Modern Romanticism

I left my own world alone
for what I knew to be
an uncertain eternity.

I stitched up my vow
in a book of blank pages,
giving it to the only one
who could read it.

Freeing my heart,
letting it soar,
allowing it to anchor
my loyalty within place,
I knew who to trust,
who to come to.

Only one, just the one
who was there to receive
all I could ever commit
to the one, the only one
who came to bloom.

Not one doubt,
not one liquid word
would deprive me
of a solid promise.

Nothing from those
who shed blame,
who tossed water
from a heavy storm
broke me from being
within place.

I loved until the word
was given its own,
personal definition.

I lived for that word,
formed into affection
as three words.