Stripes painted silver,
while those heated eyes in a river
bathe me, revive me
while I meander in open thoughts
on your presence.
How many tears could we bleed
at the end of the rope’s giver?
Are you free
or am I,
while the moon fades
into another whimsical day?
While our eyes became gray,
faces stayed in rivers, idle in shades.
All teardrops become stars,
the prison of a marred –
expression from a broken heart –
that loses its life at the start
where waterfalls become unanswered calls
in between kisses and darkened halls.
I last, while the world shuts
its broken doors.
We breathe beneath the ocean, –
counting final rays from the sun,
hurting in this rushing home
where memories become undone.
I hold, though only sunset was shown.
Modern Romanticism 