Blacked out, words of remembrance,
a final ocean to deplete,
in stages, inside thinning graces,
imagining what could, what could not
ever depart at a single glance,
a pair of eyes that run,
and never walk.
You never turned
to see that outpouring sunlight,
hoping those flames would terminate
their display of hopeless life.
A reflection, your dissection,
alit on tiniest hourglasses.
Time could be your meanwhile
or your aftermath,
in blooming words
released as breathless kisses,
as romance floods your cup,
for you to drink, like melted snow.
No more terrors, in seconds –
enclosed leftovers. Your skin,
no more settled
on a razorblade horizon.
Above, Heaven suspends you,
a sureness to your expelled dread.
Hold your heart,
outstretched like a cross.
Never kneel, to die, for other loss,
no more fires, no ashes
from insanity’s cost.
Modern Romanticism 