Modern Romanticism

I've filtered enough language,
becoming silent, amidst
this eternal absence
of who I held, who I would
have kept until we would meld,

becoming what we never
became, under the sun,
weeping while blind.

You went over
that mountain, seeing
another light that
someone held,
reviewing your torture,
promising more endurance
than all I passed along.

I went out, like a torch,
continuing to love,
hearing your voice
in the wind, dragging leaves,
twisting colors, when all
that ever could be seen
was a shade of grey.

I continued to adore,
being your enemy
who drowned in an ocean
of his own making.