A breath, withheld,
leaving this world surprised,
while I am bewildered
at the sight of black,
all around me.
Who has come to visit?
Who has come to view
another flake of dust
passing under the sun,
or is it the moon?
I am under, deep under
a haze of drunken forgiveness.
Do I deserve what I
long waited for?
Being desperate,
in what I dreamed of,
living off the flesh,
before a raven came to bite
what little was left.
Most was long gone.
But will everything be
eternal in those who stand
above me, around me,
in their fractured hearts?
Modern Romanticism 
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