Poem – “Healing with Broken Hands” – Romanticism – 3/12/2021

Call to me
Each dismal shape
Of your forgotten beauty.
With halls that treasure hearts,
Of stillness upon the walls
Where portraits
Keep faces, with buried lips,
With sadness
In each of their words.

Soldiers pass
Grim countenances
To the talents of a queen,
Ripped free
Of the fortune to love,
As scenery runs from their eyes,
Pledging boundaries
From their mind, to Heaven.

Children roam
Upon where forests collide
In the shape-shifting snows,
For the etching ice,
As tales are told for pleasant sight
Upon the come of summer,
As joy rips free
The keeping glimpse of thunder.

Come to me
With disdain born away
From the dream of something better.
See your surroundings
Given shape,
Gifted place
In the loss of a former Hell
To a brighter Heaven,
Weeping with diamonds to share.

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