Modern Romanticism

It spells our disaster,
when hope capsizes itself,
down into a permanent
state of disbelief.

We will weep
until we cannot keep
guessing at the time
it will be our time
to see the thinnest ray
of delicate sunshine.

That will be when
we've exited our shelter,
knowing that ruins
have contained nothing.

It will be when
light will burn our skin,
when guilt pours out,
forming a statue
as a mirrored reflection
of all we've ignored.

Who were we
when we thought
we could continue?

Faring through
this fruitless journey
has been teaching us
to disregard us.

Charging through
walls meant to protect
has been telling us
to rebuild them to be
defensive against us,
offensive towards us.