Enter the clouds
Upon the stage where nothing
Ever occurs.
Withdraw the props
In spaces where everything
Was meant to be real.
Walk in the sand,
Wield the earth
Upon your bones.
There is a collectivism to individual
Suns that never set,
While the brightness becomes clouded,
While the earth wraps the morals
That were loose to know
The self had been wrong.
Walk upon the desert,
Endear yourself in the desertion.
Love never stops
While life goes on.
Run your fingers through the hair
Upon your aching head.
There were leaves hanging above your eyes,
Same with the tears that had stayed.
Now they’re shed.
Jump with the rope
Wrapped around your wrists.
Breathe the frost from your parched lips,
With the winter that keeps you warm,
The summer that freezes you
In the dance,
For the trance.
Modern Romanticism 