I threw eyes to her wings,
Duality upon the dullest of blades
That concealed what hurt her,
That threw fog upon what connected her
To each room where shadows fade.
To comfort, in her bloodstreams
Blooming from where farewells scream
The same tone love sings –
Down the ripples of a curtain
Towards her open mouth,
Backwards where scenery begins.
Blackest feathers correct the storm
To the fairest clouds for journeys born,
While winter defends in blank pages –
Losing tracks at the same stages
That ink dropped to make the trail,
Burning rivers, releasing tension.
She would single the clouds to halt,
Weep for the story’s fault.
Caressed at each flake of snow,
A descent for eyes where nothing showed.
A blank page upon the winter trial,
Halting the clouds, weathering the smile.
Finding fault in each burning rose
Offered to lips, before the nose.
She silenced enough to move closer
Towards the cage,
As she covered enough to find shelter
Within the page.
Love closed her storm,
While she opened wounds to be born.
Modern Romanticism 