Modern Romanticism

Lost in clouds,
a vision of a limitless,
unbreathable voyage
where endurance is
the highest factor.

Am I better to fall?
Believing in fewer seconds
to sustain heartbeats
in their musical rhythm.
Am I listening to dynamic
chimes, or an engine's
churning exhaust?

A white noise, it must be,
to grow with, through
this ascending course,
deserting the vigor
for a hopeful salvation.

Beauty's running on fumes,
alienating me in its ideals.
Love cannot be more
wild, in its degree,
because I cannot be
wishing for something
less than sound.

For an exposed second,
let me keep still,
holding out hands to
sudden gusts of wind.
They will pull me
to an open expanse,
as I abandon the muse
to her further world.
I will give away
all that wanted to stay.

I will continue on,
without another word
whispering through
these deafened ears,
without another sign
to confuse a pair
of frozen feet.