Modern Romanticism

A ring of light,
its heaviness worn
for this burden of being
with the famous one,
the one who wilts,
the one who stands.

I've chosen a star
for a single glimpse,
for I cannot say
if who I've united with
has come to answer
these questions I lay
upon darkest soil.

I cannot admit
if this world has
more light over dark,
more sessions
with Paradise,
versus Hell.

But love has laid its
embedding kiss,
upon parched lips.
Love has made its song
an infinite one,
catching all that passes,
to those sounds,
for forever's weather.

Perhaps I've been crying
a word, far too many.
Perhaps I've been pleading
for relief from this war,
where I guide the angels
to their determination.

Or perhaps I want more
than I can even accompany.
I toil for a constant,
persistent blessing.
I choose these scars
to be worn like ivy
over my form.

I'll keep nourishing
a pain I keep craving
to keep surviving
the one, for their place
among stars,
always blinded to
bloodied fields.