Modern Romanticism

I find myself
fitting in,
falling in with it -
this surrounding
circumstance,
one that adds pressure
to a heart, already
seeking escape.

In fear, I circulate,
while I also hope to
find some way
to get away.

There will be
what puddles I leave
to adorn the trail,
before I set sail
far from winter’s
concealed edge.

I want to find
emerging serenity
in this disappearance,
holding hands with
a smoother extremity.

Wide-eyed,
being petrified,
having lost lines at
jagged angles.

This world is one
feverish cemetery
with the scents
for drunken smiles.

It’s blanketed, dotted
with more connections
to multiple endings,
all unpredicted
where bodies
were dropped onto
cold layers.

I want to see
what can come
from even a tiny
segment of sympathy.

I’ll believe in what
can come out from
this world, buried under
a landscape of leaves.