Empires rise and fall 

marked by ruins, what have I 

 

to show for us? If I can 

express the consuming joy 

 

of our rising then maybe 

I could survive the tangible pain 

 

of our end. We grew together strong, 

beautiful in our independence  — 

 

a golden age. Who would have thought 

we would die so politely, weakened, 

 

betrayed by Graduation Day. The end 

of an era. Our time weighs 

 

heavy, bittersweet. Too close to survive 

acquaintance, dying from the unyielding 

 

perfection of our history. I hate 

the memory of us trapped 

 

in photographs, stolen souls 

smiling, mocking. A new age beckons 

 

and I will go or remain a relic.

A shadow of our love held still

as we walk away