Modern Romanticism

Adorned in all that we
dreamed of keeping.
A time when we always
called to words, repeating
a blessing in disguise.

We kept retreating
to how we knew
it would find its way
to end, endlessly behind,
as shadows keep
dressing our wounds.

We kept defeating
a shivering hope,
surrendering to disaster.
Love held a candle,
to burn the rope
that death brought.

Love brought our hope
as sunlight, from a window.
But we abandoned it
to a traceless sunset.

What would we call it,
these memories that continue?
Knowing it, recalling it,
as everything from yesterday
looks similar to tomorrow.