Modern Romanticism

Hold fast
Words that do not mix
Well with the dust of stars,
With the fuel for flames,
With the ashes of a thousand homes
Crumbling beneath the house of God.
Your words are fickle
As the breeze that does not stand still.
You move across
Oceans, as easily as landscapes.
When will Autumn not cross you
Atop the lakes, nor the mountains
While petals fall off your eyes
Deep in the nighttime garden?

Your face
Is my reason to breathe
In the winds of winter.
When summer reigns, I am consigned
To be yours,
As you are mine.
Your suffering is a pill of anguish
Fallen over the stones for our pacing.
Life is the startled horse, at times,
That motions the carriage towards the abyss.

Oh, my love,
Leave the waters empty of contents
To your fallen tears.
I will wield you in loving hands,
As the whispers come
Of mournful darkness.
Funerals are there to depart,
While marriages overcome
Their empty space,
In the contours, in the lace,
Of each smile, we cannot waste.
I love like the last holocaust
Cannot ever be a thing to see us face
The arbitrary flame of decay.

Whatever lasts
In arms, as cold as the rivers
Beneath your eyes,
Will be made for
Dreams that do not hide.