Modern Romanticism

Let me smile

Just for a while.

I feel you weeping

In the newest night

Where the keenest fright

Has washed us both of our right

To feel content, within our light.

Why do we cry?

Why shed tears, as birds

Made to float or fly

As droplets glide

Down to people’s cheeks

That are so sleek

With the meadow’s dew

And our perpetual sadness.

We drop upon them

Not the filth as birds do,

But tears, like the meadow’s dew.

We are wrapped in it,

The sadness, not the gladness.

Yet, the warmth of the sun

Is what we cling upon,

In hopes that our wings

Will find hope in where we move

And what we drop can be a weight,

Not a flood.