Modern Romanticism

For stones we surrender
to the depth, of an ocean
we have begun to remember
where we drowned,
where we were cleansed
of pain, of selfish gain
in inarticulate aftermaths.

It was always time
to let go of the rain
we kept on the inside.
It had long been our time
to no longer see the sun,
to not blind ourselves
to hope's shapelessness.

We deserved better,
though we needed to undo
those knots, that kept us
clinging to that rope,
our forced connection.

We might have deserved
each other, being better
for another, though we
can only hope to see
that outcome in another,
in a different world.

Perhaps when our bodies
melt into becoming
one with all the colors
of this earth, we will
see the finish line
we were meant to find.