Poem – “In the Form of Rain” – Romanticism – 2/26/2021

It cannot end
By how we die,
Holding blankets as tightly
As we do with roses,
Slicing palms with the venom
Of thorns.
What comfort
Can shield the ailing
And betrayed heart?

We cannot spill
Enough to feel the passing
Of the release
Of life, to the teardrops
Left to raise the smallest orchard,
Left to constrain the smallest footstep
To lead us forward.

It rains during our sunrise,
As light descends, while we wake
To the finding of memories,
Left to bleed upon the pathways
That floods will carry us.

Countless hearts ache
Without burial
Of letters, where was written
In the darkest ink
Those farewells we abhor.