Of eyes turned towards the sea,
There is not much left to bleed
From a glance upon infinity.
I can recall
The winter storms
Resting with eternal ease
Upon my heart.
I gave gentleness
A close regard
For a nearby future,
With her, within my arms.
Something scares
The tears away.
Someone sings
Their loss, to the stars.
Remembering
White rapids,
Black voids
Where pain found its home
In the loving miles,
Of long rides through the waves,
Debris that is never cleaned.
Lonely trips
Scar the roads
Without ever tasting the lips
That bleed, without smiles.
Forever the memory
Of greater springtime,
Holding greatness in ebony seams,
The world in porcelain fog.
Modern Romanticism 