Modern Romanticism

Tears are falling
like anchors, to keep us
stilled for but a moment
to see what we've gathered,
before our arms
turn into dust.

Love has grown around,
with colors to fill voids,
with sounds to fill up
deaf ears, that didn't hear
a choir of angels.

We are here, waiting for
those with flooded eyes
to see what we've discovered,
to hold onto what
we've grown to live for.

The weight of hope
is that of a single light,
beckoning all to be
those who come close.

The weight of one's years
can also be as distant
as the pain in one's tears.

Life finds its answer
at the end of a rope,
at that place
where love is tied
together with hope.