In our silence,
we fall to bleeding knees,
we collect our shards
where our hearts had spread
its solemn flames.
Taking music into sunsets
to rediscover when last
we met. Those fanning eyes
will grow light that blinds.
To sickness, to us, a witness
while we bend low. We find
that God had sent us
beneath, to submit inside
where lost hearts
can be reminded.
Inside those frozen scars,
melting pain into passion’s
sweetest wield. We forgive, we
ungive all that flooded us
without colors.
Rebuilding what will remain,
kept far from those stains
set with sunsets.
Reminding our eyes that blind
that a morning can be
without mourning.
Modern Romanticism 