Modern Romanticism

Having covered ourselves
in quilts, stellar to be
all we imagined to be.

But we were deceiving
word after word,
believing in a promise
devoid of a future.

We filled gaps with air,
isolated mountains to cross,
for we were just unable
to fulfill our pledge,
to see a need to exert,
to divorce from loss.

In both our visions,
we failed to see these
forced scenes,
these fields of fire
after we had ventured
to stagger on, to be
all we cannot be.

Light had become
a simple side effect,
from destructive flame,
from where we had
placed our hands
to find warmth.