Modern Romanticism

What's there to say
when all I do is surrender?
When I'm upon these knees,
praying to a lost deity,
life resides in these stones,
as pain bleeds close.

Shadows kiss
a smoldering slab
of embittered coal.

Futures are amiss,
as these hands are toiling
where sweat is boiling.

I am remaining
in a room full of thunder.
While other have wings,
I have an anchor
to drag from a skeleton.

While others have a wish,
I must dance with death
to earn that next breath.

Who am I,
while lost in a shelter
of a mirror?