Modern Romanticism

Even while all
faded into distant chimes,
these walls burned
into the color of rust,
I hanged close
as your final teardrop
to send you off.

I made that journey
along the length
of your beautiful face.

I carved out a salience,
one for me to reach for
in a cursed silence.

A puddle made,
storms are continuing
their brutal battering
against eyes that never
wish to see what was
fatally severed.

Dining alone,
knowing that I
never left your side.
You still live here,
lingering as shadows
cast from dimmed,
cold candlelight.

What can I form,
from hollow footprints?

Where can I run to,
with a soul split in two?