Modern Romanticism

Disappear through
ripples upon twin curtains,
entering death’s
cradling arms for your
tired head.

For what else can I do
to ease the suffering
prolonged past
tomorrow’s hope?

A burning rope
has found its grasp
on one last breath,
endangering a second.

A final heartbeat
returns its echo,
reminded me
of how far you’ll go
to live, to win.

You can fly
when your wings
repair from being clipped,
entering a cold void,
leaving me behind
to figure out
how to rewind.

Days will be merciless,
years will be impossible
to navigate an ocean
the both of us
once swam within.

Minutes will agonize,
seconds will antagonize
what I can appreciate
from the timeless past.