Alongside, where our
submerged, jealous minds
have been caged
with bars of sticks.
It prepares to burn us,
readies to turn us
apart, from vindication.
We walk to go on,
while staying idle
in our bloodstreams.
We have walked past our
empty graves, on stagnant feet.
To kneel, with a symptom
rising to our eyes.
Our pain, that screams.
Kept here, to teem
in a forest of mist,
where trunks are stones,
while boughs are final words
under a cold sun,
Loneliness remains
awake, to find us
aflame, in insomniac chains.
We want, bound in ropes
to go on, without fallowed land
deserting our raining hearts.
This color of you.
This blank page for us.
We have two heavy feet
meant to carry us
through twisted shrub,
past tumbling briars.
We have our shield.
We have our servants
to build a fortress
for life’s allegiance.
Modern Romanticism 