It is upon this death,
this death of love’s glory
that we shall burn,
burn in the passing of passion.
In its final days
love did not stand a chance,
battered and torn,
wings of an Angel could not save it.
Words of anger
echoed through out the world,
compassion faded fast
like a ghost in early morning sun.
Is there a chance
for it to return to its former glory,
embracing intimate moments
igniting romantic nostalgia of the soul,
or shall its passing
leave humanity hungering for a caress,
a caressing kiss so intense
its saved before its final breath.
Timothy Michael DiVito c2022