Modern Romanticism

Running another mile
will not bring you back
to our emptied clouds.
We are two fallen raindrops
inside an ocean,
where depth and vastness
get lost in circles.

A whirlpool, our minds,
a unified hemisphere
of adjacent confusions,
since you let me grant a kiss
under that altar of devotion,
shining me through
until I broke our light into ruins.

I brought down our sun to drown
inside a sentence of stagnation,
a collection of words
from a mouth, frozen into blue,
the blue of concentrated melancholy.

I depicted, what we were
couldn’t cross the borders of time.
I decided at this monstrous reflection
that our indulgence to a crime,
our crime of endlessness
should receive no forgiveness.

I formed ideals that were not
without connection to love, itself,
because as I understood it, too late,
all that I grieve is what I hate,
for this loneliness
covers me in burned landscapes.