I can believe
Hell has its own rainbow.
A grim circumference
stretching over and abroad,
like all the shadows we knew
that faded away.
An arch above hallways
within our minds,
painting those indescribable doorways
a different color than a canvas
that captured no future
for us to enter.
I can believe
that those moments were endless.
Spent on wasted spaces
to move in our shadows,
ones that we waved goodbye,
though they were here
to stay and forever pray.
We could have entered in
to leave. We chose to move in
to remain. Hell has cruelest faces
becoming clear
while staying near
to our eyes,
trapped in our skies.
Fold a page. Keep a pause
upon a word never repeated,
because those seats that were vacant,
were never truly.
Stuck beneath these sands,
regrown on burned lands.
Can you exit for a moment,
that I might hear the dead’s heartbeat?
Modern Romanticism 