Modern Romanticism

Where you were,
where you remained,
turning to ice
while I, with these sheets
of paper, captured you
in words of blue.

I’ll continue to know
how love caused us to bleed
with startling consequence,
with faces that were few
to watch us, to leave us
with utmost pity.

A state of knowing
who we were,
bathing under those ashes,
giving into those seconds
we were true,
we still knew.

We had known
those levels we’ve grown,
before we were stoned
to be left alone
in shadows, in silence,
in catatonic violence.