Modern Romanticism

It passes,
flowing towards
an ocean that's meant
to drown everything
that's decided against.

Being one with
one of the four winds,
healing has begun,
surrounded by
buildings or pillars
holding up this body
painted in ivory.

Made immaculate,
cleansed of what corrupted
a mind into suffering.
When thinking back,
an emotion stirs,
because the healing hurts
as much as what needed it.

When dragging this form
to one symmetrical scar,
it'll resemble that age
when eyes looked over
symptoms that were
written on a page.

There's to be an unbroken
spectacle of symmetry
in years where growth
covers bottomless soil.

As it hurts to remember,
it will hurt to surrender
to the sound of a heartbeat,
the rhythm of the future.