March your eyes
on, to that distance,
towards distant surrender
of light, upon promises.
Reverse pleading for a wonder
to come – to come up.
You’ve been feeble,
forever stretching gaps
between words, between letters.
Upon seconds where you never
bothered to smile,
still yourself, in your pace.
Trace sobering moments into sands,
be restrained from catching anything
inside broken hourglasses,
for when you surrender,
when your hands touch heat,
you have found it –
the all, that you can keep.
Another tear will flood this ocean.
Another dose for one quivering heart,
one face, dousing itself,
keeps you guessing.
Tides need to recede,
you need to believe
in what will eventually
and forever concede.
If this rose still has scent,
let its petals float
across a bottomless sea,
and never catch each leaf,
each page where meaninglessness
had coated you into grey.
Modern Romanticism 