Modern Romanticism

A petal has sprouted
as a colored bruise
on your parched lips.
What placed it there,
after love was here?
I had been there
to remind you
of all that ran red,
in the untamed wild.

I am still here
to reprieve you,
while all retreats
back into the white
that runs from
your vacant eyes.

I won't be there
to be what I'm not,
in this sight of mine,
just mine.

You'll begin to cry
when fears resurface,
wondering at what
everything had meant.
All had been always
held together for you,
as words never matter,
as actions are just
a simple disappointment.

Wipe aside your tears,
I'll repeat, over again.
Nothing works,
as this pain I'll show
reveals a different color.
You won't see me
as another blade of grass
begging the skies
for continued life.

What can I do,
other than bring
your tired form
back to the wild?