Modern Romanticism

I'll reunite,
in all this debris,
forcing storms
to close their doors,
disallowing grief
to be given a window
into this vacant room.

I'll swallow
pride's bitter pill,
falling through
into that lake of iron,
where bonds,
where promises
are revisited.

With all that runs
between us, among us,
I've taken to shouting
for death to retreat,
for our lives to breathe
in holding hope
to melt, within
our dreams.

We'll stand still,
rewriting ourselves
in these thinly-woven
memories, that have
moved us into
embracing the other,
inside a shell,
upon limitless sands.