Modern Romanticism

To drain a vessel,
I must come off
its leaking length,
its tired body.

To bleed out
this spreading poison,
I must run against
that sole tide
turning me in.

It’s a path forward,
a droplet for mercy
to have its power
reaping a true reward.

It’s a way without
all I kept drinking,
in a world that became
a startling red.

For saving clarity,
I must fall back
onto pearl-white,
washed bedsheets.

I must sleep,
until the dawn
runs back to me.

I must keep,
knowing this is
how I forgive.