Modern Romanticism

Your face in my palms

Shows rows of sweat over the years

Shows trails of tears over your cheeks,

For love has made you weak.

You and I,

Steady and going

Over the mountains and dales.

Like two birds or two rabbits

And their cunning escapes

From the slowness of a winter’s harvest,

Because, love has made them tired.

Love has made us weary

As two maidens birthing without husband,

Like two Gods who created until exhaustion,

Like two soldiers without rest.

Your face in my palms

Is the very symbol of your grace.

Your suffering

Is a bandage upon my soul,

To show me where I can go

Aside from where you are,

Because, as you suffer,

So do I.