Modern Romanticism

It's good to see
all I've unseen,
all I've forgotten
all in between
scattered sentences,
broken words.

A promise made
for a life, here unmade,
among all that transpired,
down to its destination
upon frigid miles.

Covered in aftermaths,
leaving shadows
deep inside cracks.
I've never received
some sort of clarity
I can worship.

I've wanted it to snow
enough to be able
to let everything go.

I've wanted the white
to be where I can write
a pledge of a gathering.

It's where I no longer
might ever see a need
to be idle, to dream
when I can breathe.

Whatever comes,
blended together
on a different road,
has been because
I've dropped the load
of a life, bound
in its burden.