Yearning
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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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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 