Modern Romanticism

Revealed numbers – our time
to spark memories to our eyes
that let fall tears into opened hands.
I see what comes, shimmering
its form into these arms,
as I let its damages be mended
in a universe, swollen with love’s
blanketing aura.

A golden guess, to that amount –
a number of stars reflected in an ocean
where we bathe, where we gather
our thoughts, to unite another.
This stirring entrance
to a palace, grand with its doors
collapsed open, while we seek
relapse into an infantile stage,
comforted in surrender.

Salvaging a second,
hanging one thought upon a wall,
one that tells us of our toll
to remain being countless,
as well in being relentless
to keep our forms constant
in flowing motion.

We remember our deserts,
screaming to a sickening void.
We have repelled our tragedies,
hoping to cure our maladies
in each other’s serenity.