Modern Romanticism

It folds me,
depletes me
of energy.

I’m walking
too close to you,
furthering fate
to be my
conqueror.

Wilt me,
because this is
something that I
cannot subside,
as I hide
behind, to cry
notes for ears,
all deafening.

Kill me,
while I am
here, caring for
a deep wound,
shouldering the other
weathered scars
on time’s drift,
in life’s rift.

The night carries on
a glimpse of something
better to be found.

It’s a subtle hint,
one I hardly notice,
while I mingle
with ghosts,
those that weep
for a heartbeat,
being theirs
they want back.

The glimpse is lost
either among stars,
or as a reflection
in a vast ocean.