Agony
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How has it that suffering has placed a crown,On this starved mind, enclosed in a shell?When I saw a face, that was yours,I drew weariness away from that mind,And the gems grew a brilliant luster. Am I not the pain that lingers,Upon your reddened lips?Am I not the darkness that incurs,Due to the flowers that
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I cry often,When I think of thy prettiness.The emptiness of my facade,When tears fall in short streams,To be caught at the chinThat is where I swallow my words. I choke back the emotions,The loss to which I feel open.I weep for about a minute,And loosen my tears to the open.I see swallows and pigeons alike,Both
Modern Romanticism 