Above, to collected tears,
To smother your fears
With clouds as cushions,
Burrowing this glance for years.
I write pain with a pen,
For yours will be endless bathing
From the rocks where letters send
Voices to the stained whirlwinds.
You keep kissing trees,
Holding hope in clasped palms –
You keep hanging apples
While knowledge feeds your starvation –
Into glimmers you barely knew
Would open the sceneries around you.
Crest the waves that grew
To sinking proportions.
A teardrop for a graveyard’s weight,
A face that travels to sunlight,
Weary in the endless night.
As thorns blossom to your fright –
Winter keeps you comforted,
Autumn keeps you upon knees,
While Spring reveals your heartache
To its heat within summer.
What curtain will be drawn
To expose the birthing dawn?
Modern Romanticism 