I’ll save
words, for dedication.
I’ll bleed, if you
want me to,
on that cross for your
deserving salvation.
I brought a mother’s eyes
down, to starve her at
her son’s burning crown,
a bloodied halo.
I brought a cradle, made from
rotted twine, thornbushes,
to be all that
a love dying twice,
will be for.
A man’s ignorance,
his flaming heart.
A woman’s witness,
a desperate start
to flee from all that
Hell can falter.
I brought a rose to be laid
at a headstone, where a first
had never risen.
I brought a kiss
to a decaying pair of lips
that had sighed for a final time,
revealing glory in defeat.
Secondary heartbeat,
another second when scars
can be healed,
can be sealed
before life will rise
to believe in Heavens
and eternal skies.
Modern Romanticism 