Modern Romanticism

I have for you
something to believe in,
though you’ve turned into
someone I cannot redo.
You’ve lost temper,
becoming rusted, within.
You’ve shown restraint,
backing yourself against walls
where portraits hold,
while color is lost.

We’ve been unfortified,
lacking strength in these tides.
We’ve been weaponized
in reusing old designs,
because we’ve never developed
beyond a grim disguise.

Selling ourselves to shame,
wielding hearts for this place
where memories turned to stains.
We did not wait a second more
in seeing death at our door,
drawing in no breath
when nothing is left.

Tangled in feelings,
bonded through sealings.
I am reaped of reward,
as I’ve been sown for accord
to choose between grief
or unwelcome disbelief.