Rake in, take in tearstains,
broken glass, herein where a
fatal word can blanket the tale,
before life is ever heard.
Lost hope, forlorn inside the tragedy
where smiles are doused in apathy.
Walk, love, on the shore,
diseased as you are.
I will question what did come
washed up, tangled in the weeds,
broken of speech,
gracious in needs.
Was it the moon’s child?
The remaining spark of light
before we departed,
towards the night?
Kiss your scars, nestled in stars.
Awaken hope, as would be morning.
Listen, within caves, within eyes
that do not lose you.
Lock those winds that soothe
with the promising words.
Lock what could not escape
from your beautiful soul,
in its wake.
I will stand when the sun lands
to keep you held in another’s arms.
I was never, never the one
to speak of what could be one.
Modern Romanticism 