Modern Romanticism

It went from its inferno
to embrace a monochromatic,
exhibit of bleak clouds.
We learned to cut connection
to paint our barren reflections.

Deceiving the vow
that we decided on,
tearing down towers
we would stand on,
after it was the time
when a sacred paradise
was in fullest view.

All went well,
until that alien swell
into a different direction.

It came with its pull,
its force upon our heels,
driving us deep,
compelling us to weep.

We wanted to cover it,
the fires to smother
that shifted our home
to becoming
one unbecoming
mountain of ash.

Now we wait
for Heaven to remember
everything we forgot,
while isolated
on our deserted shoreline,
where love met its deadline
where we could not give
what failed to ever live.