Each edge to the fullest rose,
With petals razor sharp
To re-open wounds that never close,
Wash with blood the mouth
Repeating words of profanity.
While the earth thunders
At everything Hell can sunder,
Death re-uses the heart becoming ash –
At the twisted sound, the heartbeats clashed.
Her tears swarm the halo’s light,
Raising from someplace out of sight.
I can burn the tension from her skin,
Fold her limbs with the pages
To volumes stacked to ecstatic heights,
Among bells, the knell to her sin.
Her hair is long in the unfurled sunlight,
Enough to sigh for, content to die for.
Time stamps the recognition
To the swell, a face for cognition.
Leave herself at the gate,
Counting steps backwards to birth.
Leave what is never wrong
To the birds that envelop fate.
Her taste at the lips
Becomes unbound, forces a sound
That yearning cannot race on
With its Hell at the common ground –
All to the contract that demands
Eyes to wander, feet to stand.
Modern Romanticism 