Modern Romanticism

I’ll hold for a thousand years,
watching those petals float by
on rivers made from isolated storms,
where thunder carved those craters
where collected memories and clutter.

I’ll watch, while a thousand tears
wander down from blinded eyes.
I’ll wait, passing fear through this state,
letting your familiar shadow linger here
where faces turn into smears.

I let your kiss be inhaled
like a breeze that touched our sails.
I let our music of sadness be lifted,
though rain was always crashing.

This guilt for not doing enough
to keep you from fading in that abrupt
display of nourishing your way.

Your garden – adorned in monochromatic,
confusion of displacement.

Where are you going?
Who are you finding?
When will you be back
to be reminded,
on your moonlit tracks,
that freedom is not,
is never its own gift?