Modern Romanticism

Wandering vessel,
searching for meaning
far from a distant heartbeat,
far from the bitterness
of blood, on parched lips.

One time, she knelt in the sand,
deprived of something to see
when it sunk below
a bottomless horizon.

That time, she called for me
to return to her gnarled arms.
There was nothing more
for me to place inside
that ice-cold flesh.

There is everything more
for me to see, from the other side
where memories become
imprinted messages.

Through these corridors
in a mind, one with engrained
thoughts, that will arrive
at that perfect second,

where meaning can be reformed
from the past's ocean of tears,
the future's twisting shadows.