The ill times in which
All wounds were unstitched.
Unbound, to bring the sigh,
Aimless as the goodbye,
Wishful with the fateful decline
In life’s caretaking sunshine.
We wished to keep travelling
Within overburdened arms.
A caress to keep the sun up high,
One kiss to hush the painful cry.
We wept for all the broken
Times we were unspoken.
Failing to swim, apart
From the other, in our hearts
While knowing sadness was the waves
We mistook for the warming years.
Love shows its signal,
Sweeping frozen arms, overboard,
Leaping from burning ledges
A pair of feet were placed.
For love, in what stands
Can be for gentle, broken hands.
We leave the teardrops to collect
Their stains to match our feet,
Walking over crimson sheets.
Modern Romanticism 