This way we keep
Holding onto faint ruins,
Slipping upon the puddles
Made from our tears.
This way we keep
Folding our arms into curtains,
Concealing the hurt, beneath
The movement of winds.
My love runs a circle
Above your head,
Tiny in the depiction
To the burial of truth.
I can stare, forever
To the funeral beneath
Where you closed shut the haze
To be covered further
With mounds of false weight.
I want to hold, forever
The moon that rains the evenness
About you.
In the distance to limelight,
As I am forced to step back
To watch as God’s wisdom
Knows more.
He takes the faint raiment
From your crippled form,
Limp as the ruin to your limbs
To crawl backwards to His home,
As I am forced
To sweep a tear beneath a rug.
Modern Romanticism 