I lay here, recounting the days that you have said those words upon the lakes. Upon where ripples cast ever greater waves, while loosening tides from your eyes, to your lips. There is great sickness, here. There is great powerlessness, here. Among me, so much is torn. Among you, there is much more to be born. Love grows in you, like thorns, like marble that had life. Like the green mixing itself with blues, as the ocean finding home in the land, for a flood.
I leave here, without a tear to name my place, upon Earth. For I loved you, among all gentle fragments of my heart. Though, they’ve become the savagery of a helpless beast. A man, in too much denial. Find your place, my love. The home you call home, is not this man’s own.
You are the blessing that the rose is meant for, in its gift. You are the life that must live. You are the woman whose vulnerable side, must find strength. Your tears will make newer lakes, for fish, for the fowl upon its surface. As you weep, so will the waters be flourished. As I depart, I will go with a breath upon that lake. As you dip your feet into your very grief, you will not see the sunset, though the sunrise for your future. For I give you a crown, made from my own pain. I want you to wear it. I want you to never scorn yourself.
Just dream of a night, without me, without the man whose sickness caused you grief. Find a world without the tears, without your own, and without the many lakes. For they will one day dry themselves, as you will discover an anger. Though, not to the anger, for I wish for your relief, away from your grief.
Like a merriment, due from the sunrise, you shall find an ocean to cross. You shall find a place in time, where love holds many moments more. By all of that, you shall forget me, for I am the beast that can no longer scold you.
Modern Romanticism 