It is the twilight of a windswept night,
whereby the energy flows through our world,
together in regions well apart,
we feel, we see, we want to imagine.
There is a certain romantic air
to a windy night sky,
feeling the wrath of nature,
compelling us to perhaps have a cry.
For we helpless to a natural beauty,
we do create our own personal storms,
to live inside the wild view of chance,
to know the instability of love is sweet.
There is that gift that suggests time
will permit the life of a romantic
to compel, to attract, to seek a coupling
of our own human nature, in shared eyes.