Modern Romanticism

Drawing curtains on a sunrise,
draining eyes, one at a time.
Blinding ourselves from shine,
from light, though gleams reside
on this residue leaving our sight.

Contemplation starts. Hearts stop
in this blackness of shared vision.
What are we, in this turmoil of disbelief?
We are the shadows of naked trees,
only growing when the sun ever sets.

I choose life, fertilizing strife,
wiping away those stars
spread across night.

This haze makes me remember
that craze of loving
into forever’s engulfing infinity.

To believe in something that’s deceived
twin hearts nestled in grief,
resurrects our feelings,
entertains what we thought
would never find itself to leave.