Modern Romanticism

You were a witness
to the flood, to the valley
where lakes were born,
where a promise
had been torn.

Dents upon scripture,
damage onto a vow
steals apart a face,
the one that looked
this way, far away.

I am never forgiven
from having undone
what I caused.
For what’s been dealt
calls me back,
pulls me aside
to sink my hand
into poisoned land.

Life is central
to this air of indirection,
taking place all of time
to expose the factors
I want to override.

Hope is more to be
excusing deceit for,
as I retreat into
a world full of portraits
scratched to disregard
my recognition.

I wish, under no avail
that fear will see me
forever sleeping,
if I can get away
from the place
that wants me
to come, to play.