Modern Romanticism

Other end of this
glowing sphere, painted
in hues of green and blue.
You've walked through
a faceless existence,
wearing what rains
always upon you.

You've bled what I
had to stop, while I
halted the flow
of traffic, your fears,
your angelic tears.

I called over
forms of help,
figures of a kind of
helpless certainty.

I wanted to weep,
though it was you
I had to keep
connected to a line
of salvaged reality.

Keeping you grounded,
without going under,
outside of view.

Keeping you loved,
dragging up to me
threads to pull together.

Sewing you in,
letting myself drown
in all that suffocates you.

Always, you weren't
living in the current,
as tides were preventing
your form from cementing
its shape, beneath the light
of a dwindling Heaven.