Modern Romanticism

I’ll act like it,
without the mask
that disproves it,
finding out where
I had left off
in the echo.

I’ll come back in,
immersing myself
inside the warmth,
the Heaven
where infinite light
reverts me,
reverses me.

For I was fleeing
the truth that someone
had kept for me,
to someday see.

The hour of leaving
a shell behind
exposes me,
transforms me.

Sounds surround.
It’s enough to be
nothing I can ignore,
everything I cannot
anymore abhor.

For letters written,
for faces remembered,
as I’ll return,
when doubt returns
to test the faith
in what’s presented
in what’s admired.