Modern Romanticism

Without. Give, without
those eyes that were never
always mine.
Within. Present, within
all those memories where we
called on, for home.

A petal sits on a grave.
One lonesome throne, seated
for those that carry on
with lives blamed into dark,
with others that made it far
without turning over
leaves nor idle shoulders.

Tiniest thread. Dangle from
gray weather, above.
Clouds without cracks
stretch faces, engraved
for deluded hearts.

Let hope be that signal
to never bring light
upon this sunken ship.
I carried you from furthest
fields, to lay you down.

To lay us down. To face
sickness, not of love.
To die between other burials,
before sunlight caught our eyes.