Modern Romanticism

All that we thought of,
while building our bodies
on mounds made of
what we thought could not
ever crumble, ever sway
after it promised that
all will go our way.

All that we dreamed of,
denying our systems their
overdue dosage of peace,
giving enough until we
became what we were
always fighting against.

Just a pair of monsters,
like twins in the dust.
We shouldered more
than we could ever carry
while losing balance
on the guiding flow.

Those turns, in a passage
that showed us our speed
left us regretting it -
all we were measuring.

These twists, within a plot
where fading words,
believed-in promises
stayed a hopeless conflict.

All that we knew
was a method of force,
burning forests to create
a mixture of clarity
and impure sanity.

It was all, while we drew
the outlines of our forms
in the sand, upon a shore
where its endlessness
presented no closed door.