Modern Romanticism

Heaven's voice
calls down a harmony
for an untouched heart.
She has waited,
releasing air
from a parted mouth,
scattering seeds
over blackest soil.

Her hands have always
quivered in the fall
of autumn's truer colors.
Her eyes have watched
the growth of children,
stretching to skies
full of reaching sunrays.

Place a promise
inside her vacant mouth.
Let a teardrop soar,
raising a single leaf
for summer's advance
far from winter's
immaculate blankness.

She will walk a mile,
letting deception fall behind,
outside the road leading across
an abyss, made for
caution's brutal ceremony.