Someone told us to not look away.
No more to turn away
from where we ended a chapter,
and closed our eyes.
Once, in standing there.
Next to hear our sudden heartbeat
continue its vain deceit
for a love we could never defeat,
within everything we did reap
under our feet,
beneath doomsday’s clouds,
that came from everywhere
to gather here,
the middle of nowhere.
For we remain central
to these places that are separated,
parted at a white line
drawn to always remind
our flooding eyes
that we left nothing behind.
Reopened eyes, opened skies
raining upon these hours we choose
to ignore countless cruel lies.
What is love, from a Heaven
that turns our light
into searing fright?
Colorless emptiness,
except for hearts that thud,
without further corpses
to fall with it,
under remembered ruins.
One shared, plucked flower
continues to bloom, as it will not
ever, upon our grave,
share the stains of our rot.
Modern Romanticism 