Modern Romanticism

Counsel me.
Funnel me through
with therapeutic
communication. I am ending
a light, from its source.
I’ve decided to untie
a bond, with force.

Who knows best, but I?
I am the one who gave it,
under blanketing stars.

I am the one who singled
a union, to form,
though hearts were torn,
divided and buried.

And I am often hoping
for something to be remade.
To bring it forth, again,
having lost moments
in the rain, within pain,
knowing nothing could cleanse
like those times we lacked shame.

We were blended, in arms,
having colors that would not
ever segregate. It is now
a frail monochrome;

but does it need its own eternity?

What is its remedy?