Longing
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Here is the cruelest fate,That life has placed upon my plate.I have furnished the table with silverware,Of those to my type.And I will dine on what you have given meIn the Hell we are both living,And for the Heaven we are both missing,Upon the Earth where we are both grieving. The nectar of romance,A sweet
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A mind made with shelves, adorned in the booksThat read the past with much awareness,And a heart that recedes with the tideOf a bloody sea.No fault could ever welcome itselfInto your open arms,For you possess a form,That outdoes even the sea with its many currents,And many curves,From cresting waves. I am in love with a
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Beloved, to describe what is before me,Would perhaps offer me,What to me, craves the plenty –The multiple aspects to your beauty.And as I sit before you, and before my gaze,Towards your marvelous captivity,You show to moon and star,A gaze full of idle awakeningTo what thumps a rhythm in your golden heart,Broken away, are those fragments
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She was the wind,She is now the sea,Calling out, for sailors to breatheTheir last, upon their own thirst.While gulls transport, from water to scrap.While faces of Heaven see downwards to her,They call no strength to her longing,Her suffering,Is for a hopeless muse.It is an ocean that brims darkness. A fever, she once caused,For the sake
Modern Romanticism 