Modern Romanticism

Our hopes were always
meant to go gray,
to restrict their meaning
into a lifeless monochrome.

Our love did not panic
as often as our lives,
when racing over tundras,
where a frozen pathway
was ours to follow.

Why did we commit
our hearts, when all we
were able to accomplish
was that striking realization
of what we failed to admit?

Our lights, divided under
a universal countdown,
until we ended up denying
the fire that went out.

We voyaged with tatters
to our sails, believing in all,
after we had surrendered
to the hopes, to ropes
that burdened us in the call.

We had answered, while we
were invited only to see
how this could ever be
broken from its symmetry.