Emotional
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Send intoMe, when you’ll come to bleedThe song of a mocking siren.Kisses are the texture of velvet upon your mouth,While dreams lay wasted in fields that do not want to runAmok with the seedsFor new beginnings. Life has been a cruel displayOf utter dismay. My desires flee from my parted lips,Like sighs from one burthened
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Only when I weepDo I feel tears that truly stickTo cheeks made of the same pallidityAs the stones above your grave. Cry more, will I?To the open winds, that scream back the same verseI jot down, upon paper of some pale oceanThat feels my fallen tears. I have loved with a heart that would not
Modern Romanticism 