Moon
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All distortion followsThe moon with its velvet hues,Its resplendence,Its call to men of blood-thirst,For it has a face as wicked as the heart above it,My own, that does writheBut, what does it say?Shall we have a listen? Syllables in repetition,Contrasts in transition,And the words spoken, aloud, are,“What is this wilderness, about yourselves?Have you forgotten,To call
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“I love you,It is for that reason,That I will not let you fall.With eyes that gleam under moonlight,And features that show fear before my sight,I do love, and for that, I will seek strength,So that beauty will not be hurtBy a swinging tear.”
Modern Romanticism 