Modern Romanticism

Dried eyes,
exhausted flesh.
A sun will ignite
your remembrance,
as a pristine sign.
You were once left
to awaken, while fueled
to be nervous and shaken.

I empathize,
as I immortalize
your design.
A shape that twists
like that rope
that tugged at your throat.

I’ve done little
to reprieve your nature.
You are overgrown
in your thorns,
upon death,
rehearsing a cessation
to an endless sensation.

I have loved,
while I kept eyes locked
on soil to save,
with your tears to salvage
from that glance that withered
to become, in everything
it never was.

When you come next,
be what you feared to be.
I’ll remain to explore
your ruins, tending to a garden
enveloped in a returning scent.