Modern Romanticism

Into the dark
areas of our eyes,
isolating our minds
to see what we
couldn't take.

From an engine,
a train soars
past stations,
refusing its place,
leaving all to their
branded disgrace.

We all wish to have
something we cannot
hold onto, while we
soar past lessons
to be learned.

We all hope to receive
the echoes that are
confirming our words,
our presence,
our connection to
our breaths.

But we exchange hope
for denial's wish,
believing that all that
has been lost,
can return.

If we seek a way
to reenter that sickness,
we'll drain the meaning
of what we told others.

We'll begin to idolize
the wish we should have
never memorized.