Modern Romanticism

Misplaced thought,
misunderstood notion
that begged an emotion,
a teardrop to create a mark
that solidified our start,
from a liquified state
as we arrived, too late.

Here, is loss,
as you are beginning
at an ending I held,
at a distance, in mind,
as I have been waiting
from far behind.

There, from across,
I have let sadness crawl
up to me, displaying to me
its constant renewal,

as I am approaching
nothing more than clouds.
They’re breached, from a memory
that came from testimony.

You filter me through
your conquered fields,
your inhabited seconds
that pass, on a ship,
where eternity
is always skipped.