Modern Romanticism

I've refused
to believe, that the end
will draw near,
like a curtain
shrouding sunlight.

I've reused
the same words,
like tears in the morning
finding their one way
off my naked face.

Blankets of hope
encircle me, wrap me
like a present,
unwilling to be opened
to let the darkness in.

The sound of rain,
I choose to calm me,
rather than blend me
with its song
of blatant misery.

I want my wings
to keep me going high,
believing in a world
without its flames,
without its stains.

I want for failure
to be a constant lesson,
for a tomorrow
that isn't smothered
in endless sorrow.