Modern Romanticism

I have heard what you
have cried out, under such
a constant stream,
with downpour filling
your cupped hands.

You can't float, when there
was never anything above
to resurface to,

for you've always wanted to
be reminded of what's down
in the direction to drown.

Love's face can get you
to retrace your form,
building up your flesh
to erase what's dead.

Life's grace can let you
wish for more than to
find value in crawling
into a vacant space.

A grave is full of echoes,
a place for an anchor
to keep you connected
to burning debris.

Don't deny what's real
outside a cold,
bottomless vacuum.

Don't forget to reveal
your ocean to the earth,
stepping forward,
for your rebirth
on soft sands.