Muted, in these
faces of grief,
poisoned in a shell
that keeps revealing
pictures from Hell.
Your eyes,
a cross between voids,
carrying memories
that keep me fading
somewhere between
gray and a passing day.
Near to where
you rest, under me
as I kneel here,
kissing sands, holding hands
with a symptom that never
goes away.
A set sun,
a green verdure
forest that escapes
me, into dark,
where memories are
fragrances in perfume,
in flowers above
your cherished grave.
I’ll dig a petal to be,
brought far beneath,
while you
are still breathing
in this faint-beating heart
I’ll never close
like a gate that had
opened to keep you
always close.
Eons are unheard,
screaming in daunting
imagery where I
will keep feeling these
venomous stings,
sick under love
when I jump through
that scar, that sits
like a cripple
aiming to walk.
Modern Romanticism 