Modern Romanticism

Within the disease of myself,
Or of everything around,
I steal myself the closest glance
Of one who cries
When I cannot laugh.

I cannot frown,
Nor can I smile.
For what purpose does it entail
When I am drowned by the retail
Of different emotions that cannot stand
On the rivers of streets,
Within the use of deceit?

I implore that my emotions
Won't drown the curve upon the horizon
Into a mere straight line.
Of all things confined,
Am I at a loss to where I walk?

I feel the motions
Over the motionless
Expressions from too many disasters.
I feel the horrid colors
That drown the pale away
From the dismay
So that only the darkness remains.

Where I frown,
Was once a crown
To begin a smile
Made to last a while
Upon all these roads I do walk
At a loss to whom I talk
To, within the faces that never truly respond
As either friend or foe,
As the next step to be overthrown
From the throne I've deserted.
For these highways, eclipsed by the emptiness
Of those smiles that were not meant
To crash into painful frowns.

Of that man whose disease has isolated his awareness,
Does his wife share the pain,
Or does he know it?