Why did men long ago sing to the skies
When they burned hot with scorching honeyed flame
When the graphite waters began to rise
Why did their hope remain ever the same?
Did they inspire sweet, naïve Juliet
Who begged sharp, bleeding dawn to never shine?
Are they the larkspur wish for dead moonset
That Romeo made for his lover fine?
For love, they so desperately hope, alters
The fingers, bladed hands, of cruel time
Like mortal words could change the universe—
But to challenge stars, is that not a crime?
For if my lips bleed when you I speak of
How can worlds be changed by mere poppy love?
Copyright © Franchesca Mia Tortoza | Year Posted 2019