Modern Romanticism

You've fought,
bereaving through
those unwashed notes,
tending to wounds
beneath your nails,
while you've been
digging to uncover
liquid tragedy.

Weep for more,
let it be what you
come to adore
with cluttering ruins
filling those spaces,
between rivers.

To building blocks,
to winding clocks
that will count down
the seconds, until
you're underwhelmed,
having finally
made your home.

Treasure it, do not
measure it to limit it,
being outside that circus
where you had once
felt at ease to lie
to your mirror.

Beckon it ever closer,
wherever it leads
your iron footsteps,
letting loose a path
that tells a different
kind of tale.