How have,
Among all fairest bloom
This warmth treated you,
In the cries
Of senseless gloom?
Still-life
As the ocean’s calm,
Drawn for you.
As plight
Was whisked from you,
From the space
As blame
Had ended for you.
We kissed
Without sudden departure
For lips,
That caressed the edge
Of wisdom’s pledge.
Wrap the lace
Around your thorn.
Venom to a mile,
In your place
Where you were worn,
Stepping in great trial.
Holding hands to a desolate you,
Where the ocean’s quiet care
Is all to make us anew.
Modern Romanticism 