All wait, with the moon
to find its decline beneath the rain.
Each room reenters its gloom
without the petals about her feet,
with love to vanish
from a heart burning among the gold,
vacant within streams, forcing their fold.
A clash, while she blankets these eyes
in gray clouds where horizons cry.
From the end
to the musical soar –
with hands to smother messages sent.
Some lost space, a missing oar,
building a boat already sunk.
She was fog for the dream,
weeping within the nightmare’s scream.
Holding love, building answers,
while sending the sun away.
When will moonlight have its way
upon the pillow of a thousand feathers?
A dream dropped in each tear –
lesser for the hands,
greater for the scream.
No comfort holds what already died –
Leaving smoke where candleflame flied.
Blooming from her chest
where a raven met its death,
are petals, history’s pages.
Kisses to a mouth that never breathes
beneath the waves, for all love saves.
Modern Romanticism 