Pathway,
a doorway,
an outside beyond
your radiance,
to a shadow
that never forgets
what it once held
inside empty palms.
Blue in the face,
suffocating in the space
of what was left
puddling here,
among tears, of those
that will not leave
for upcoming years,
and among your fossil,
the one that disguises
history’s blank curtain,
for you are always one to
keep resurrecting.
Modern Romanticism 