Modern Romanticism

You’ve hung on,
carrying shadows,
trailing dust
from your moth-like,
unfolded wings.

There’s everything
that curtains
will not contain
if you wish,
if you listen.

Let your loss
be the light
that fills the void
you mean to
escape into.

Come close to
stare in a mirror
where your desolate,
feeble figure
trembles in terror
for what you find
too slow
to be what saves.

Your decaying heart
leaves debris
in your smile,
where lies
are conceived,
while a life
is deceived.

A noose will drag
your form to the floor,
while hope will claw
your eyes to the sky.

If you can set
that rope, aflame,
you’d embrace
one choice
to reset your name.