Modern Romanticism

Filtering a voice
in the sunshine,
of tomorrow.
Dreading me,
through every day's
endless sorrow.

I want to know when
all of this will end.

I yearn, while I
contain my passion
with belief in mind.
I have built rafts
made from mud,
from autumn leaves,
have built cities
to keep me sheltered,
lost in the dark.

I want to know when
I can open my eyes
to see a sky
shaped by sunlight.

I want to know
how I can dream
without the nightmare
of extinguished hope.

I have reused words
that were either devoid
or full of commitment,
drowning different speech
in indifferent repetition.

I have kept saying
I will keep going,
that I will keep floating
to see those stars
brighter than my scars.

I hang onto the final light
rehearsing all I've said
to continue the fight.