Bleak waters.
Wishing well,
where I toss a coin
overboard. I mean to
hold you, upon endless sands,
counting grains, as you would
see that entire ocean
as a mere stain.
If you could float,
if you could come up
to surface yourself from tears,
to block the sun
from highlighting your fears.
If you will see yourself
in a different light,
I can come to bring you this –
this promise of no plight.
You drowned,
without a boat
to give you hope.
You could fall into
these long arms of mine,
seeing different sunshine,
finding different shelter,
leaving sadness behind.
Only everything
and no more,
will hurt you.
Every infant’s cradle
sends to sleep a child
with a sigh,
before a cry.
Modern Romanticism 