Modern Romanticism

You've brought the world
to a corner I've called home.
You've lasted yourself
in shadows, stretched far
from wandering legs.

I am breathing your vapor
into these hollow lungs.
I am marching on this
unpaved path, connecting
gleaming stars to form
a distant shape.

Who else has died
in the brittle attempt
to have what has
already left?

Your absence has swallowed
this burning scenery.
Your face has been transferred
into these staring portraits,
staining the walls
of a man's floating mind.

I would, though I cannot
rebuild what will not
live on, when it just
resides as a ghost,

haunting this home
of a corner,

reminding one of a light
that stretches long shadows
from a figure of someone lost.