Modern Romanticism

Surrounded. In seclusion
from the rest of the world
you’ve grown to detest,
whenever it begins to test
the worth of your restraint
down to the last drop,
and then up to the top.

You retreat upon when
your flame-engulfed world
seizes an opportunity
to cut you open,
to let you explore
the depths of what you
forever abhor.

A secular circumstance,
a theme grounded in reality
has been biting your heels,
has been framing you,
has been painting you
for all that you feel.

You’re a color in an ocean,
washed onto a palette
where your name turns
into the evidence of
exhaustive gravity.

Death is your circle,
while light might be
from all the places
that you resist,
when you subsist
on crying to make
the stars come out.