Poem #1,947 – “My Eyes don’t See Stars” – Modern Romanticism – 3/13/2022

Night glows with
all the eternity with
futures stretched across
farewells and saddest

Day slows in
pain, and gusts in
from the windows to
your eyes, your fallen rain,
without shelter.

All the funerals stop
while the hearts slow,
while the nights breathe with
grief, in the sighs.

All the footsteps turn home,
hands bang against walls
like doors of strangers, –

though this is familiar.

This takes us through
labor for life, labor for life.
These footsteps match our feet.
These bloodstains are our type,
our type, in the night.

These skeletons have no answers,
their lips have no flesh,
their arms hold no warmth,
their feet cannot walk, –

even while
the moon begins to show us
phases for grief,
faces for embedded sleep,
places, inside dreams
we are to keep.

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