Melt into decay of remaining day.
Thinnest gravity keeps us tucked away.
Pressure builds,
loosens the storm
to die us from our stay.
Welcome tears as shadows
come to play.
Why do we enter, without setting free
the pain we have come to be?
Long glances disconnected from sincerity
while the moon distinguishes
our trances.
Unclaimed beauty without yield
while twin hearts were first
to leave heat as the shield.
A winter that burned us in the bite.
Water became us, as ice set our feet.
Build us, outside in the frost,
without love.
There is here the calmest storm
to keep us driving the sounds
of our hearts, become torn.
Modern Romanticism 