Here’s to what bled
and burned, fated from rust
into a stream of sleepless dust
for washed out eyes,
from extinguished sighs.
I’ll hide behind these shadows,
pretending you’re here,
seeing snow as only
another chapter to grow.
I find that our world
was built to count meteors
falling like teardrops,
finding their place
like water for a rose.
I sensed an apocalypse,
before you sheltered
in dreaming darkness.
I sensed winter’s arrival
before the last petal fell.
I’d love to lie,
if I could continue to cry.
Though glaciers have formed
around my feet, making me
a statue that never rewinds
before it was captured,
before it becomes
another pile of ash.
Sifting around, in hopes
of another mile to cross,
another future to toss forward
like a stone that never skips
another second,
even on a shattered,
reflective surface.
Modern Romanticism 