Modern Romanticism

The door between
Our stamped feet,
While our forms rise out of bases,
Sent forth towards the skies,
Sent forth towards the blue,
While our tears keep raining.

I do not see what is outside of a window
As the blissful blue of summer.
Only the navy of loneliness
Has ever been my bitter kiss.

And now there is a door before me,
And it is one I cannot dare myself to open
To see your streaming face.

Your form, I realize, is rent asunder.
But, it wasn’t with fault.
Within, you were broken, and I would seek a cure
If you’d allow.
But, you’ll repeat the word “impossible”,
Without allowing an attempt.

A door, perhaps to you?
A door, perhaps to that cure
That will seek its way into yourself
And find itself pure.

I am lost, without you,
I am nothing, without you.
But, I will live, because you want me to
Live.