Modern Romanticism

Forever forceful
when we considered
a second guess
at our soiled direction,
bonding skin with skin,
letting thoughts sink in
at the end of our road.

We've taken to deciding
that our shoulders
are just far too heavy.

What weighed us down,
buried in an ocean
of marble and glass?

To recollections,
glazed over sour gazes
in reminiscent reflections,
we've gone from clear
to deserted and cloudy.

What gets brought back
is a shower of hope,
trickling over resplendence
down our aching backs.

We never believed in it
for long enough,
while we were drying
our vacant eyes.

Everything matches
in these dark hallways.
All of it withers,
while we go on,
with burning fingers
leaving piles of dust
on abandoned highways.