In this burning ruin,
further streams
come running
from fragile eyes,
weakened heart.
Tell the stars
to never count what you lost,
to not grieve
over the scars, the tears
that were the cost,
that were tossed.
Your memories
into a distant dream
we could not, should not
resonate for,
behind the open door.
Walk your arms around.
Let me hold hope
that you will face the earth
without tragedy.
As your hand falls
with the final word being said,
I carry the winds
Bringing all the petals
that are you.
Modern Romanticism 