Modern Romanticism

I thought much of her,
Quelled much within
Because of her.
Her beauty was both the tormentor
And the comforter.

But, upon her absence,
Upon her freedom,
Only a tear, had I seen
Beneath my foot
To never pull my foot away.

Never pull away the foot,
Despite how far I walk
On my own.

Like love never had a moment
In truth,
In the merry mind of simply knowing.

I was in love with the door,
Not with the tear
Upon the floor.
I was in fear,
For her death, for her breath to quit its repetition.

Such focus,
Such a stammering voice of mine
Boarded by shame,
Shielded by pain,
And now when love seemed so close, nothing has been so distant.