If answers hold me back,
let me have none. Let me have
something most prominent.
Let me be here
to count seconds like hours,
to find hours the same
as everything all the same,
as all things unchanging
with the seasons, unchanging.
Let me hold hands with a god,
deaf to every prayer,
from one faithful worshipper.
I feel divinity’s skin, dried to a desert
with no miracles to keep
starving lips quenched.
I have lived in this merciful,
plentiful landscape of time.
What grows soon receives its snow
after a fall of those leaves, I cannot see
are claimed to be darker,
are said to be less green.
What answers change
everything I cannot believe?
Such thoughts have held me still,
have left me teetering on a razorblade,
have left me walking,
before severing a knotted noose.
I soon come down inside
a pair of no one’s arms, held open-wide,
like children who were waiting
for what one cannot hide.
Down inside another den.
Another’s grasp, hoping for
this nearest thought to conjure a hope –
another hope to keep me close.
Close to the answers I have found
are nothing without their muted sound.
Modern Romanticism 