Modern Romanticism

Misted window
where eyes are met
with a dim reflection,
that is where
you have found
your lair,
your lie.

If those echoes
from your screams
come back,
returns to you,
what will you do?

What could you do
once it is fire
that has given you
the means to see
where you’re wounded,
temporarily?

This isn’t eternity
that you see,
because this is not
where space
reserved room
for your grace.

If you want,
I could drag it out,
just as you’d expect
when you forget
there’s much more
than the state
of reoccurrence.

Or if you want,
I could leave you
to your haunts,
to discover yourself
where you buried
your engraving heart,
under the dust.