Modern Romanticism

Twin worlds once intersected
within their space, chasing echoes
broken down, within droplets
among springtime meadows.

Reflections dropped, numerable,
to bring down to green valleys
a hope for the resurrection
of what seemed due for selection.

But the time for it was past,
as the last period had passed,
when footsteps left where
both souls once fared.

Twin worlds, eons together,
will smother their hope
at the end of a rope.

Finishing the final page,
entering their last stage
of a union that faltered.

Whatever keeps hearts going
with the strength of the sun
to warm once cold veins,
to provide another year
for love's bountiful reign?

It is what's dropped
to become the message
for two more, those who can
believe better in where
they've been able to stand.