Modern Romanticism

My world
has closed its eyes,
has dropped off
the heaviest of residue
from a cliff
to a shoreline,
to be taken away
with the tides.

Something once swam,
as it once breathed
even when those floods
held hearts beneath.

A drifting took place
after a line was drawn
that divided two separate,
bared timelines.

A tear, a single scream
let me let go of it,
let me see the snow
cover all of it.

At a time,
my world appeared
as fresh as a newborn,
with promises open
for the least revision.

At a different time,
my world shattered
into pieces
I couldn’t gather.

I float through sheer,
fogged space,
letting tears escape
a pair of eyes
that can’t look back,
for it is too late.