Hold this rope
alongside, for those sides
we might have crossed.
Kisses for our eyes
back into amnesia,
back into reminder
for what we lost.
A thin ray from a moon
sets us to sleep,
too soon, too late.
A newborn child’s curiosity
grew from sheltering blankets,
for lips to breathe nebulas,
for arms to wield oceans.
We were infants with our gazes
finding stars, while our mothers
were decorated in scars.
All elders fell to their knees
for later generations to do better.
We held our hands out
to receive nothing that we did not
deserve. How better to be,
when endings were what
we have seen?
Sad to be, unanswered,
under another shelter,
hidden beneath a mountain
that rolls down its words
to no open hands.
No open mouths breathe.
Our sighs, our lives
have closed
on endless paths.
Modern Romanticism 