Here, I hang
with ribbons to decorate
a gained honor, in dying
for a heart I pierced
with black arrows.
I ripped, I tore
into the gift, presented there.
I loved until the aching contents
from a furnaced soul
came rushing back.
Here, being hanged
from the same ribbons
used, for this place in crying
for a love left on the boat
swept forward in the sighing.
I slipped, I implored
Hell, to keep governing.
These eyes were the showers,
above, in the murky Heaven.
This soul held its bouquet, –
while silence kept receiving
the prayers that kept leaving.
Modern Romanticism 