#poem
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When will you walkWithout the hard strokeOf your aching feet?You impatientWoman, with too many blocksTo wields in arms, meant toCarry something far more soft.You stumbleOn iron.You dream of empiresYou cannot even kiss. Why do you implore overDisaster?Why do you wish for meTo step aside,That you might constructAnother Hell? I love all waking momentsOf your eyesAgainst
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How may I seeThrough the lens of a broken cameraShe is to beViewed from each sideWith admiration,Upon adoration.My eyesSurface to the edgeCounting falling dropletsFrom ducts that never erasedMemories from the lakes. Why despiseWhat I can love,Forever-more?Her beauty is captured in stillness,Too still. Death leaks overboardMy arms that held upon quivering movement.I let her dropFrom my
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Love holds a soul,That which I cannot hold.Because, the tear that was descending my cheekIs falling from my chin, to meet my feet. I would kiss the stains at my toes,And hurl Hell upon new foes.Their words had cut us deep, in our treatment of sleep.Our sleep, our loving denial, and its gaze so sweet.
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She was the sun in my life,She knew what to do with my strife.I drew her face in for a solitary kiss,From across the ocean,But, the death of her, was enough to loseThe everything to make my wife. To love, again,Is to see the sun again.How can IWhen the nothing I see, is the darkness
Modern Romanticism 