Walk with a smile to bring back.
You were meant
To walk atop your own puddles
The clouds above your head
Leave, for your reflection.
Can you say we were meant
To cross lightning with lightning?
A brief flash
Revealed the lust more tragic
Than each spark that never ended
Slower than our tracks
Being covered by the snow.
Loose-leaf,
Tin foil,
Conceal the creation,
To preserve the serration,
The incessant illumination
From the wooden carving.
The burning cross
Bandaged in our clothes,
With our pain, in the whispering
Flames.
Connect the memories
As stars in the disconnected sky.
Answer the call,
Even with fading beauty.
Walk without diving.
Run without falling.
Keep bleeding backwards
With your eyes facing east.
Bring a smile back.
Let not me see it.
With hands washed with Hell’s mischief,
I can find rest
In the running sand.
Modern Romanticism 