Outside, from the distant wash
From multiple pairs of eyes, looking overhead.
He kisses a cathedral’s walls, as paper
With ink, running from his fingers.
He still writes the note,
Sings aloud the memorial
With pain that brought him higher,
Peace brought him highest
On a mountain where he could not
Did not want to come down.
To repeat words, beyond farewells.
While love has a singular image,
He adorns it in all clashes
From autumn into spring.
With all scenes from decay into newness,
Roots spread, as pain cannot remain.
He left those tears
Around those trees,
Sprouting blooms of glee
From scattered seeds.
He planted an ornate smile
In people’s hearts, in their eyes
Bleeding on for a space in Heaven.
Yet, beautiful their hearts,
Everlasting their sights
On growth, from all sides,
All youth he kept behind.
Each dine, to become autumn’s child –
Their spring of great renewal.
Tears rain upwards to Heaven.
Flesh will ride towards skies,
When becoming death’s black quilts.
To become hope’s white silk
Laid as carpet for a mile,
A path with his smile.
Modern Romanticism 