Modern Romanticism

Liquid remorse,
a lesson churned
without being learned,
while teardrops
come down, as dark as
an evening where black
is the sole shade.

I believed in what
can be held onto,
greeting this universe
with burned hands.

I did not withdraw
all that I mistook,
for searing knowledge,
until that shade arrived.

Since then, I buried
what I used to disguise,
to begin to understand
better reasons to thrive.

I left winter blank,
with its skies continuous
in all that's drowned
in growing monochrome.

I began viewing
a man's face, within
crystal surfaces,
no longer distorted
from those memories
that had splashed
each other.

A solid shadow
no longer embraces
a once-sickened soul,
while he reviews
where he stands.

He views this scene,
blooming in radiance
on a tended land.