Modern Romanticism

I'll see where life crawls

Back to the womb,

Back to the safety of that hollow tomb,

Back to the walls, the sheltering ones

That mask themselves by the world's gloom,

Showing faces that do not wince,

Nor eyes that do not blink.

There are portraits, hanging thus

Upon where safety is certain.

There is dust in my hands,

Weariness in my bones,

Love that rests atop my heart,

While I hear no sounds of the Earth,

Save for your cries, in the night.

You are but the infant

In Mother Earth,

You will be given new birth,

Without hurt,

For you will not mind what comes

From my touch,

From my arms,

After your search

To find new light

During your desperate plight.

I unravel veins, like ropes for you to carry

Back to a grave,

Back to an old self,

That hung itself, by a long piece of shade,

As in these waters, I wade.

Like in those waters, I see all things regrown

Into something better than the tears,

Better than the cries,

For you are in comfort.