Modern Romanticism

You’ve been too wordless,
dried at your mouth,
worried about the next
agonizing endeavor
that is what others
are telling you to be
and what to leave.

The weather had never
been your prediction,
because you’re premade
for your empire,
for your destiny.

You’re wired to be
what these blank pages
compel you to be
while you disbelieve.

For as long as you
freeze right there,
where your ending
has started,
you’ll never breathe.

You’ll drown in the blue
you dip your feet into,
helping your eyes
to the broken glass
where your reflection
is burned within,
where tears recede
to smother your soul.

Light is your blindness,
serving your purpose
without recognizing
what your spirit
is losing.

You’ll be fading
from your thoughts,
if you keep identifying
the shadows
as your shield.