Modern Romanticism

Some part of you
must miss that feeling.
That mutual connection
of singing beneath thunder;
it held us, it never failed us –
until it failed us,

but is it still tailing us?
Is it tailing you,
while you go throughout
a life, decorated in ribbons
colored in monochrome?

I was always smiling,
even while I had been crying.
I was always inhaling
a gust of gratitude,
even while those exhaled sighs
kept feet stagnant.

But, you?
You were walking forward,
far from me,
from my brandished shadow.

You were finding a path,
adorned in discovery.
I was an afterthought,
nothing but a thorn,
after its rose had died.

Will a whisper find its way?
Will a shout carry it on,
to rebirth one familiar display?