Modern Romanticism

Renter the hour
when glimmers appear
above a quivering brow.
I see into a mirror,
finding a man, one I can
condemn to his state
where there cannot be
a welcoming fate.

This world is oceans apart,
where tears are lapping
divided shorelines.

Two worlds, both bleeding
their limited lifespan
without finding relief.

I am viewing someone
with a split mind,
with unfulfilled vows,
an unfinished path.

He is that someone,
devoid of having found
a method for ending
what's left him unwound.

He wilts as his own tree,
centered inside a garden
where colors are failing.

There's nothing to tend
when the decided avenue
leans into overgrowth
of brambles and thorns.

His mind remains a sun
when nighttime has been
bringing the wash
of formless anticipation.

His eyes remain those oceans,
blurred when he doesn't see
that they're viewing all that
his fractured mind sees.