Wield me In your verse, In your river Of words spilled upon the platter Where servants come to take For those deserving Of our pleas, of our cries. Tears have formed the streams for us to walk On manifestations. Beauty is the open trail While sadness leaves itself to be The guttural wail. I hope, I dearly hope We can meet in the next life over, In the next shelter Where rainbows make us, our bright light. No more pain, For there have been Too many stains Building upon the surface of our eyes, To run like the contents of our hearts. Life troubles, Love doubles On the perspiration, The pressure Of much anticipation.
Modern Romanticism 
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