All turn to
The raindrops, the petals, the dew.
Those faces with mute expressions
Leak sadness we all flew
As burning banners
In the same crippling fever.
Our identical tears, once forgotten lessons
Can become the same crystal rush –
Of unified limbs, upon pain’s hush.
We are winter in every season,
Holding hands around our throats.
We do not differ, without reason
To speak on grief, to elevate treason.
Do not numb what engrains solace,
The peace described with the moon.
We rise through the overcast,
Seeing countless flurries of snow.
We are all, as we might last
Comprehending where we were, below.
Life is a life sentence, for terrors past –
That would shallow a soul through oceans.
Here to whisper upon disused lips –
That love was peace, with pain aboard ships
Meant to sink beneath motions.
One phoenix to engulf the sky
To bejewel our faces with the light.
We will hope beyond hope
That in our love, there is no rope.
One thought on “Poem – “From Grief to Ashes” – Modern Romanticism – 11/11/2021”
Lines like this one, “We are winter in every season,” are proof-positive: poetry brings together pleasure and truth.