Modern Romanticism

Opening windows
for a storm to come in.
I have invited clarity
to shelter me,
to let me release
these words,
meaning to decrease
all that's residual.

Tell me to topple houses,
using wind, with purpose.
Tell me to uproot trees
if that will ever ease
the support of a cemented,
deformed history.

I will be willing
to break these bones,
those that lift darkness
up to the surface.
I cannot see my face
in that void,
spilling tears that are
just as blackened.

I want to hold onto
what I can redo,
while breaths come out,
to be roped back,
welcomed inside a boat
floating towards sunrise.

If this storm can treat me
as a slave to be set free,
I will wander among thoughts
that might ever revive me,
through the twists,
the churning that ultimately
provides what subsists.