Like two strips of white,
We have crossed the burial marks
Once to divide our safekeeping
In arms, pulled apart within the night.
We hold, to find our song always glued;
As we kneel, with lips that find their breath –
For each other’s unwarranted death,
With each blessing we always knew.
Answers, within those fair droplets
That fall to your choice of words.
Your lips speak, without us to breathe
For two lives never moving away
From identical graves that kept taking away
Our symptoms to a better lifetime,
Among all that weighs, all that needs.
All of love cannot guess the crime
Without pondering the state of our sleep.
Belief for the flow of ancient words
Can sweep us into the deepest dream.
Without the hold, can we remain
Among the same sanctities that did stain?
We were all that grieved
From faces hanging from disbelief.
Outside of where we could sleep,
Blood rushed at the place we weaved –
An intricate lie to cover ourselves
Inside the broken mirror,
Stained by blood without cracks.
When we held, or why we knelt,
Here halts the journey in everything felt.
Modern Romanticism 