Modern Romanticism

Returning to shelter,
to rediscover our shadows,
exhausting all possibility
to feel the breath
of springtime, to see
streams of light
through the cracks.

For all this time,
we've deprived our eyes
from opening up
to different scenery.

All this darkness
blends in with our flesh,
as millions of snowflakes
conceal our roads.

We're never aware
of wherever else that we
ever dreamed of,
under hazing moonlight,
during warming summers.

It is merely
the simplest normalcy
to keep arriving at
this same location,
abandoning our hope
to reused sensation.

Just a state of fear
among our heartbeats,
for a rhythm we hear.

Just a lost wish
unable to be brought
back to our hands.