Modern Romanticism

How far

Does the world travel to

To be at its end?

Why does it seem

That inhabitants

Will trade away

Things, to whisper lies

As sweet as the embers that were once in our hearts?

A smile is only as curved

As the head that may twist around

To see the stagnant shadow

Yet to be erased.

When lovers cry out

For the missing light,

There are breaths everywhere,

To no recognition.