Modern Romanticism

Love called the dust away
From the ropes you carry in your arms,
As you walked free from the ladder
That carried your will.
Do not end, this way
When I still love you.

Eyes are all that is left,
Before they ever close.

Do not lose
What we hold between us,
Not the ropes,
But the gleam of fulfillment.

What is love to us,
Besides the messages we carry across
To the emptiest places
That hold none.

We still,
As we always will
Make our love modest.
Though, we'll beam,
We'll flash
Over the Earth, what love should be.