Modern Romanticism

Burned shields,
repressed shades
that care for the hollow,
desolate form
of a standing individual
who let his heart
be speckled in embers.

I’ve let the walls fall,
have flooded fields
with the tears that come
from where years were
the broken time.

Much more burns
to hold out the light
to measure my footsteps
approaching another scene
to unveil the same song.

Crying out, with weather
that shapes the firestorm,
for much destruction
will be dealt all over
the laughing cities.

I condemn the anchor,
for I am not still.
I reopen the wound
that leaves my heart sore.

I enforce the sundering
those that will invite
a thousand to surrender
at the might of what
needs no excuse.