I’ll hope
before another river
I can kneel before,
presenting a circle of gold,
returned from an era that cold.
This river flows
beneath an immaculate
covering of white.
Another place, to trace
this name of mine,
for another chance for fame,
within another heart in time.
Down that path,
I’ll go. I’ll no more wander
with breath among snow.
I’ll melt this scenery,
if to see a distinguished reflection
in countless puddles.
But one more pain to waste
another circle of gold,
believing in everything old,
if to keep strands of gray
from living into further days.
One more place
to fall from falsified grace.
Once more to be relit
as a match that goes out,
when I can kiss no more
to come alive.
Over this river,
across that forgotten trail,
I’ll hold a torch for history
to remember a one
who fell into a beaming sun,
coming down with none.
Modern Romanticism 