Two places to weep
Of sun and moon,
Scorn and solace.
Like featherless birds, we shed something for nothing
As just the specks that flake from skin,
Brushed free from a crown of thorns,
For we don’t even bleed.
Our bitterness accompanies distress,
Fields laced with wire,
Our forms were disturbed without shelter,
Without care.
Simply as two to create one,
In a paradise of forgotten,
Like children who crawl
To the feet of a savior,
We are helpless.
Peace is our motive,
To see, what a treat
Could bring us up from this downfall,
And speak with open mouths that do not attract the flies.
Modern Romanticism 
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