Modern Romanticism

I swear

To hold the world up.

Each tragedy shall fall at my command,

Each bitter tear shall drop to never again be seen,

Each angle shall turn into a beautiful curve

Of your now broken flesh.

I want to hold the mirror to your face

For us both

To notice a smile

That does not crack,

Does not break

Neither against the wind,

Nor those quivering hands

That would rub the eyes to burns of friction.

I kiss the cheek,

Not the lips.

I hold a new memory

Of something better

Than the music of yesteryear

Where the strings of both harps and violas

Were snapped.

I give you roses with the hues of the sun,

Hoping such warmth will better you

For the future that is won.

I will no longer weep

For what could not be,

Because, your face will be the reminder

Of the future, clearly seen.