What is it about the romantics
That makes them so charming?
Perhaps it’s their ability to make
Ordinary things
Extraordinary
Fantastic
Universal
Precious.
'Love is God.’
‘Truth is God.’
'Reason is God.'
Perhaps they let us
All believe that
Even
Our small lives
Can be
Glorious.
There is courage
In being romantic, I think.
It takes a certain type of person
To hope
So much
That it is
Infectious.
No wonder it's
So dangerous
So callous
So deeply feared.
For romance
To survive
To spread
It must collapse difficult questions
Into emotions
And answers
That give prescriptions
No one truthfully understands.
It must make us believe
We all are
More than specks of dust-
That life is not
Arbitrary.
It must convince us that
We matter.
Struggle must have value,
How else will Love win in the end?
How else will we will we find a point
In winning?
Belief in significance is
The opioid of the weary.
We search for answers
In love
In hope
In dreams
In reason
In regret-
Because all of us
Can love
Will hope
Still dream
Try reason
Have regret.
But when have answers
Laid in the universal?
No love is the same.
No hope is the same.
No dream, reason or regret is the same.
Yet we desperately seek comfort
In being understood-
In being collapsed.
Don't too many of us
Have strong opinions
On how to live
A sensible life?
We could all be correct
Or wrong
And it would be equally meaningless
And meaningful
To strive for more
Or less.
There's an arrogance to suppose
This world unfolds
With sense.
There's a hopefulness to want
This world unfolds
With sense.
There's a necessity to believe
This world unfolds
With sense.
All we have is
What we
Feel and
Comprehend.
So we must keep alive
The romantics amongst us,
The romantics amongst us,
The paramores
The plumbers
The politicians
The pontifiers
The poets.
Only the audacity of romance,
However dangerous,
However paradoxical,
Gives us all
Something to live for.
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