Modern Romanticism

Come with folded wings,
Never releasing a hold,
Upon one memory
Caught beneath your feet, and your talons.
For you are a bird of prey
With wings both clipped by me.

Your tears are like petals against your cheeks,
Your tragedy is a place to put upon pages
So blank like the love stripped
From your now-hardened heart.

I have only one care,
To see your head raised,
With the force of resolve,
Upon starlight,
Upon a moon,
And show those revealed emotions to open air.