Modern Romanticism

You were here
to see me retreat
back into fullest shadows,
back into closets,
warm as open arms.

I let fall
that final tear,
wiped a false smile
into an engrained,
captured smear.

I have whispered
what others can't hear.
I've walked ahead,
while keeping near
death's consoling grip.

While you were here,
feeding me words,
laced with fear,
I bled between fingers,
letting leak
what formed bleak,
barren darkness,
at my feet.

You were what ended,
what I could have lived for
in sight of mountains,
even made of snow,
should they just glow.