Modern Romanticism

I recognize
the ocean that will
leave from a pair
of blurred eyes,
upon the moment I
accept this fate.

I’m remembering
what I’ve left behind,
hoping to rot in gardens
still mad with color.

It then changed
into a state
of continuous,
overgrowth.

It fell into my lap,
adding to a pile
where ashes mixed
in with the dark.

I realize what I have
kept covered,
wished to be smothered.

It is death
that cannot die,
as it is life
that cannot hide,
while I’m recalling
those last hours,
before footsteps reside
in a path before me.