Poetry of Death
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Atop of Heaven, there is a woman, there is a beautyWhose triumphant call is a horn of flame.There is the sun,To which I grasp with all my knowingOf what she behold for me, in this time of need.My pain is a growing monster,And her touch will heal. Above to where I see long tresses trail…
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All of my painGoes into this kill,This one kiss upon the terrible formThat sought me to be stillThat sought me out,To be heavy with the weight of loss,For you were there,Until you were not. Your absence might appear kind,It is unlike the place I will findYourself, among the dust of a ruined city.Might it be…
Modern Romanticism 