Stretch across
that long overdue
place, that you
oversaw. Dreams were
rough, among clouds,
hopeful among thunder.
Nothing became life,
within that blunder.
Someone else told you
that life cannot worsen,
when hurts are past,
like shadows cast.
No kiss ever
returned, from bliss,
from stings of concern.
Where you turned
like leaves blowing east,
I kept to my knees.
I kept finding fruit
in those shadows, formed
from your tears. Those years
curved against another wall,
as you carved blankness
against these calls.
Where you found consolation,
I stretched for resignation.
I found what lives, inside
snow. I discovered what
always glows, in those emptied
glasses, where words were
connected in burned out,
disconnected reflections.
Modern Romanticism 