Modern Romanticism

It is your light
that would not leave,
even with thick curtains
blocking its approach.

You had commanded
what I could give,
even dipping in palms
clasping mere air.

I surrendered
always during seconds
when I remembered
what your trials
looked like.

I let you live free
from the circle of stones
I set around me.

I was a prisoner,
trapped behind a veil
that had begun to force
a kind of kindness.

Love is the world
you wanted the most,
despite its scenery
turning into a desolate
field of burial sites.

Ashes will one day
be all that will be left
to adorn your form,
bringing you the decay
you cannot deserve.