Modern Romanticism

On your stranded shore,
there had been a light -
a candle, one that melted
to reveal a cavity.
It revealed that space
where you were buried,
as you've found a way
to be released.

From sobbing eyes,
you are unveiled.
From bleeding lips,
you are whispering
what you have always
wished to unfold.

A candle, of your own,
being a warm sentiment
to decide at something
you've put off,
while you were wandering
through layers of fog.

I'd love to see you seek
that treasure to become
something. To be something
other than nothing.
To become someone
who longer considers
themselves to be no one.

To no longer
wander from echo to echo,
not ever knowing
where the scream came from.