Modern Romanticism

Torn through, dense fibers,
of your ceaseless repression.
Are you growing, with this vanity
in knowing that you are yearning
for something that is stirring?

I have lifted your veil,
drifted down your throat
to your heart,

decorated in embers,
from piles of rotten kindling.

I have remembered your tale,
as one more raindrop
for an endless ocean.
There had never been a seed,
nor anything to grow.

There was nothing in those books,
where endings are grave.
If you learn to discover yourself,
remember a word,
a word you will never release.

Remember my promise,
a devotion I kept,
while smearing these closing eyes,
among your crowded tides.