Someone looks back
To see me, a man depleted
For the rays of the sun,
To each stinging curve
Carved into a heart
That beats without the everything
Once wielded in the bleeding.
Her hope,
Razor-sharp against the moon,
Mournful with that of cries
When she doubts.
A love that keeps growing
As spring’s nighttime flowers,
Above the grain,
Reaching in great desperation.
Cry for the tempest
To send us afloat,
Instead of sinking to a depth
We will never match.
Her hope
Draws me back
Towards tides I did not follow
While deep within the earth
Where I was swallowed.
Modern Romanticism 