Modern Romanticism

Never-minding
what came before
this inclination
of yours,
because you punish
everything that comes,
afterwards.

It’s all written there.
It’s a long history
burned into the moon,
dancing on your eyes
that are blurred
to the heat of the sun.

You fall into lasting sleep,
after another session
of tears like autumn leaves.

You’re hoping that,
before your resurrection,
you will drown.

I see the smile,
sensing what’s there
beyond its crease.

You aren’t here,
diseased with grief,
departed from beauty.

Hold your hand
close to your heart
to hear the thuds,
of what’s been breaking
as much as darkness
has been taking.

Hand yourself
not a rope,
not another seam
shattered in the night.

Give yourself a reason
to keep floating.

Reveal a smile
that is your light.