Modern Romanticism

What is there to yearn after,
singing songs to unite weather
into a grave incursion?

Weeping for nothing leftover,
when no one is there
dying upon the rocks.

We are just holding out hope
that our tears will continue
to fill up gaps,
to repeat those stories
overfilled with pages.

What is there to reminisce on,
fueling this channeling
of sudden, ongoing
sadness and bitterness?

What is there left to hold,
when air is identical
to ghosts in the air?

Embracing emptiness,
while we've let actions fade
memories into distant,
wide blankness.

It tells us there's a new
kind of story to tell.
It is inviting us to revisit
that space, to replace
all we were pained for,
with different colors
built from solid grains.