Turn around.
The sun has risen.
You face the starlit sky,
counting to infinity.
How many seconds?
How many grains upon a frozen shore
will your mind become lost in?
Beyond my arms
which direction is yours?
Beyond the scarlet warmth,
where will you turn?
Your dreams face a sadness and scorn.
Your heart, wrapped in velvet,
and torn.
I wait with an open gate,
closing my eyes at the Zenith
to the brightness of fate.
An open door, arms closed upon the wind,
as the light sets upon your side.
Modern Romanticism 