“The day the love-scarred
will swallow the stone
that their vengeant hands had meant to cast
at the romantic’s glass heart

is when I will venture back to hope
but not before.”

(1.)

dearly bereft,

it had been apricity’s kiss

who thawed the tear
from the cerulean eyes of death

that birthed us into this world

so beg not
to be preserved

fight to be shed
to be expended

and then expand

be an avalanche
conquering the porcelain cheek of death
down which we all must tumble

and see to it
that her hand
has an entire ocean
to wipe away

by the time that she decides
to vacate this one moment
in which she mournfully clung
to ever having dared
indulge the thought of life

because there is no such thing
as love or spring
without winter’s cruel equality of strife
first compelling them to exist

so be compelled
resist against all costs
the crushing maw of nothingness

and live

live
to leave death
blushing bruises

in memory of tears
that for once
fought against being ignored
and clung on
to have their moment in the sun

and may every subsequent sunrise
that we shall not live to see
over the fields of our youth
and so too the worlds
that we shall never wander

serve every day again
as a declaration
against self abandonment

as a divine plea
that nevermore
even a fiber of time
spent in our own good company
is to be squandered.

(2.)

the moon
is but one
light second
removed
from the earth

to me
that means
there’s only four hundred and ninety eight
more stepping stones
to the sun.

so promise me now
whenever the weight of your mind
does eclipse all hope

eight and a half minutes

that is how long
you hold on for.

(3.)

i.

perhaps penance

is spent

reclaiming our untaken footsteps
from the waves that never erased them.

ii.

perhaps penance

is spent

guarding all our unlived life
to be left unlived

until we dare forgive ourselves for it.

iii.

and perhaps salvation

is to view
every stumble
as a triumph

and every subsequent rise
as due celebration.

(4.)

Here’s to the love-scarred romantics

who dare keep their lover’s stone
on display in their glass heart

and are brave enough
to accept the chance
of shattering
with every loving touch

it’s them
and only them
who know the vulnerability it takes
to grow roses from a stone

and yet are willing
to put themselves at stake
to keep another safe
despite the times
they themselves have been left broken for it

that’s hope for the sake of hope

and that’s the kind of love

against which Death
never stood a chance
of enduring alone.