Poem – “We still Dance” – Romanticism – 3/9/2021

Of ourselves
In the same crimson veins,
As waters leak
From the frozen nest in our eyes,
To what we see,
For all we disguise.

Among afterlife,
Soil in the trenches
Where our bodies flow
Down the slope of a hill.

Our arms still locked,
With hearts still blocked
To see the sun
Raining against our burning
And cold selves.
Our movement is a descension.

We will maneuver
On isolated slopes,
Folding faces backwards
To see the sun disguised in warmth,
As hearts ignore,
As hours implore
To greet the next second, in pain.

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