If we can relive
that faint grain,
separated from those
other proofs of our pain,
that leaves stinging marks.
While that sun goes dark,
can we sink our eyes
for another prayer?
That one seed
burning on with
its memorable need.
This singular approach.
A footstep to
take your hand, onto
a white altar
with a circle of gold
to arrest your eyes
at a glance.
With a memory
that moves mountains,
holding on, for this sake
of never letting a heart
break, while oceans can part
to let us across, for
our overdue start.
Leave those leaves
back with Autumn’s
unwanted grief.
Leave fuming embers
with what we do not
remember.
Let sounds be
encompassed in belief.
Let blossoms grow
where lives once faded
into stark snow.
Modern Romanticism 