Modern Romanticism

Hold me here,
I’ve been sobbing
without fear,
because its tune
is all I know.

I’ve recalled
its stillborn symphony
during those periods
I lack symmetry.

I’m relapsing,
back before dusk
can be the indication
of this delusion.

I see the stars
during daylight,
sing to the moon
when the sun
tries to melt me.

I hear the words
from other's lips
I want to say.

I cannot speak
what I want to say
with a starving mouth.

With nothing to feed
what’s bleached from speech,
I’m left with blank sheets
always within reach.