What releases,
falling into heaps
of your dust? I grew
these gardens, for your
rebirthed life. For your
time to never stop.
If you choose to,
I will explore other mouths
with their words
that answer questions to stars,
that drain confusion from
this floating mind.
I want to never hold close
shapeless grey. For years,
you have strayed, without
noticing these tears
floating your way.
A common sign. One
face in this eternal light,
next to a shadow
that kisses not.
You depart, closing
chapters in a sudden,
synonymous eclipse.
Your eyes see light
between branches, from
another leafless tree.
Modern Romanticism 