Modern Romanticism

We broke through
dust and clouds
collecting around our sights.
What could we be viewing?
What could we notice,
if our scars
have enough color?

Days came, when we
would let descend our tears
for too long a time,
smoothing ripples only when
we let an ocean be calm,
all over again.

But we found our way
to be beyond
a stagnating gray.

Mute expressions,
deafened promises
beckoned a false blessing
to tie our forms in a bond,

driving our rain
to heal our pain.

But love let us enlighten
our seeds into famous growth,
feeding a damp spot
in a garden made of embers.

As love let us go on
with a tale to sing for,
we bled light upon lines
where we wrote our names.