Modern Romanticism

A cancelled rainfall.
Winter has arrived,
to let flakes down.
Dropped from a veil,
loosened from eyes
that have lost motion
from shredded sails.

I wonder how you
replicate your state,
can capture what burns
in your frigid fate.

Love will disallow you
from making that plunge
over an inviting cliff,
to feel how far you
have bled yourself
towards the sun.

But life rewinds you
to remember when
you were screaming
into the rain.

This season is saying
you hide from no one
in the reflective ice.

You want to be blinded
from lingering too long
before letting go.

Will love relight you,
correct the sounds that
you’ve gone mute to?

Will love retype the words
you’ve been missing?

Dearest angel, don’t die
before you’ve heard
your last lie
to bury your shoulders
in what you know.

Don’t disgrace yourself
while standing there
in idle grace.