Modern Romanticism

Present those eyes
glowing from starlight,
drowning in
thermal remorse,
celestial anticipation
from the anchors
you’ve had to drop.

Tears fall down
like weights
from slumped shoulders.
A cradle for your heart,
an age for your day
moves you
with your debris.

Over earthen waters.
Beneath, where a signal
flashes for the face
of an incomplete lifetime,
you are hurting.

Beyond these limits.
A horizon burns
an angelic serenity
for your commitment
to a long security.

You are screaming
like an unsafe child,
fading in a field
where speech turns hollow
like the inside of a tree
that forgot that its roots
corrected its sway.