Modern Romanticism

While I sacrificed all imperfections
For one perfection,
For one love,
Fate was there to curse me.

While I sacrificed all the time I had
For one moment,
I received a blame, by fate and its surrounding colors.
What a spectacular array of sequences
That bordered on imprisonment.

With her, in arms,
I faced the face of Death,
And I spat in its face.

With her, in arms,
A weight I lifted in one,
I walked miles across desolate fields
For lost time.

I walked before the winter’s landscape
With beauty in my hands.

I made arrangements in uplifted gardens
For lost time, as my only reward.

Love fueled me,
And I never felt so strong
When Death was no longer a certainty
To face, as the spittle dribbled off the skull’s cheekbone.

But, for lost time,
I made my way only for her,
Only for her,
And seemed to die, only for her,
Not for us.