Modern Romanticism

Shattered glass,
a broken stare
that felt the need
to always beware.
While you’re here,
what have you seen,
before going back
to your pleasant scene?

Returning to stone,
you’re chilling yourself,
far from heat,
far from the blood
soaked in your bones.

You refrain from
seeking the honesty
from words,
from those you feel
at an arm’s length.

They’ve captivated you,
but they’ve never connected,
as you remain breathless.

You remain hearing
your faint heartbeats,
pounding against
the shell of your chest,
the chest that holds
all your secrecy.

I never wanted you
to dishonor yourself,
finding meaning more
in riddles, as you abhor
direct sunlight.

You detest what knows
the spots where you hide.

You’re taking shelter
where you can’t confide.