Modern Romanticism

Upon that path,
littered in the defeat
of retreating footprints,
while I hunt for an answer
to a question I asked,
just once.

I hope, while a rope
has coiled around
this bruised throat.
I had never breathed,
until I listened
for those whispers,
under the soil.

Upon this crude road,
following shadows
that remain close.
I have listened to what
continues its dance,
from light's eternal song.

I have kept going
in an eagerness to prove
what I'm really worth.
To blossom before the herd
that dies in its stampede,
as I revisit where I
have begun.