Fade beyond curtains. Leave,
while this world gathers
in this empty room. White walls,
decorated halls. Tables set
without a fire to burn
needless smiles down.
A candle is all that remains,
with its wax, the tax
to waste for no betterment.
I’ll melt, fusing in with
colors and limited smoke,
before everything enters darkness,
before no morning ever arrives.
For eyes will sting with tears,
ears will reenter a silence.
A mouth without another mouth
will neither speak nor share
a taste of your bitterness,
your sweetness. A nose will
breathe in what still lingers,
while these bent, broken fingers
will grasp, will tug
a rope that pulls the shape
of the longest shadow ever born.
The sun, without purpose
for even rising. The moon,
no longer a symbol of tranquility.
The silence, no more a space
for a kinder contemplation.
Only you remain in the corner
where I always remember
why Autumn was ever a season.
To sweep, to numb
heat sometimes resented,
until its imagery
fell like rain.
Modern Romanticism 