Modern Romanticism

Gravitational,
revering certainty
like a tranquil,
overused blanket,
keeping heads low
and eyes far.

The darkness is just
one mile within another,
like a sufferer's meal,
filling us up
to ache within.

I want to wield this,
to embrace what light
we ever threw away
to be comfortable with
a second longer.

We were made to be
unleashed, broken by
our own shadows.

I don't want to die,
thinking I couldn't cry
during an offered chance.

I don't want to bleed
to create a flood,
when all that I could
ever hope to dry
was another's shoulder.

We'll come for it,
for each other,
in this mist,
tempted to disguise
what we ought to
bring back to
earthen grains.