Wide letters.
We were holding on,
while recognizing.
Those shapes. These marks.
They have stuck like glue
to these gray haunts
in the washing blue.
Worded. Remembered.
Burning ships that tag along.
Fated nooses
that hold up bottled necks.
Stored messages for the sea.
Stored letters that go unseen.
Who shall hear our screams?
Who shall worship our stars,
put out near firelight
where we ignite another rose?
Lost ship in a storm, motioning on.
Burns on, trickling our ashes close.
Rediscovered scenery
on a page no one, but us,
remembered.
We pause, once more,
to glance into empty eyes.
Cold glares consumed in flares.
We read one more letter,
before shedding our sadness
overboard.
Another message
scrawled into a pale flag.
That same ship,
pulling its pale flag
same as a blank page.
Who had realized?
We had relived.
We are revived,
in memories that survive.
Modern Romanticism 