Modern Romanticism

I trespass
on your gardens,
lingering here, observing emptiness
from a vacant pair
of eyes, encased in wonderment.

To let you know.

To let you flow
from this barren setting
to an aftermath,
reunited with color,
retelling your tale
around fire.

To hope, beyond all that,
that you will break free,

beyond all that
keeps you occupied
in your searing mind,
from those that
have settled you into memories
that continue to rewind.

To let you go.

To let you run
to find the setting sun,
to bring it up with a rope,
drinking gold
from a well,
one where love and beauty
forever dwells.

You cannot be
what they will catch,
like a fly for a web,
like a child for a bandage
after falling.