Modern Romanticism

The one who stopped moving,
he died at our final meeting.
He perished, becoming an unheard word
under your breath, far from
his concealed death.

You were the one
who stopped screaming,
the one who had another step
forward, in your sacred life,
your life that never wilts
in its garden of roots,

but what will you reach for?

Once, these hands
felt your tragedy,
but nothing could solve
that pain in your history.
I could only obey
who I knew wouldn’t stay,

as you stepped far –
far from a broken heart,
to embrace an open door.