Two parts of me. One part,
of another feuding memory
left blank on another’s slate.
Another part of me
left in a translucent lake.
As I bled upon this globe,
reflections were cast backwards,
as that other who held
a burned out image
told me to refuse.
To refuse what put out
that sad, wicked fuse.
This heart that breathed,
abandoning flickering candleflames,
adding another shadow’s dance
to a set of lonesome
collectibles. Recollected,
in memories, unselected,
from all those happier moments
I had been brought far
from a welcoming noose.
I favored seeking one more choice
to keep myself remaining high,
above in teeming thunderclouds.
To a grace, to a space to drop
more than some teardrops.
To let these feet land
into no one who will caress
a man whose worn face
has ever, has never felt warm hands
wiping sadness from eyes
that have seen this image, before.
Modern Romanticism 