Modern Romanticism

While being trapped
in this basement of all
your foundational fixation,
I am wondering – to those stars,
“what had been your focus?”
Your clutter, of memories
as fossils, made of
portraits and uncovered coffins,

as I wonder,
“what had been your entertainment?”

Who had your smile
go gray? Who caused you
to come down, with the snow?

I am another one
to recede, with all you know.
What torment we’ve consumed.

What to see, what more
to ever believe, in all this –
this senseless deconstruction
of your senses,

as each of us
had fog before our view,
were blinded in our perspective,
our lenses.

While knowing nothing,
we predicted all events
to come inside this haven of safety.

I have been less than
a crack, in a bottle of messages
lost among dust.