Modern Romanticism

Hold the way
for this spillage
of excess, inside a
long and empty
hallway.

There was always
a need to keep
ourselves, from being
too late to fill up
our eyes,

always our eyes,
when seeing what we
left to decay.

Why would we
keep finding something
to go on for, when we
reuse it, always it -
the fatal impression
of keeping here
the feeling.

That feeling that
was never what we
would ever keep.

It kept our graces
unchecked, unanswered,
while we fell,
always in the way
of our own way.