Modern Romanticism

Something still stings
somewhere where
you’re hearing echoes,
imprisoning your sorrow
in the aftermaths,
never letting tomorrow
be the cleansing.

It’s the state
you’ve surrendered
yourself for,
crippling your mind
on all you hate.

I can be one
who will be burying
a burning kiss,
but will you grow
to be that someone
who will be yearning
for more?

There is only
so much that one
can ever do,
while you’re drinking
the past, for its fire.

You’re never deserting
just a handful of seconds
that’s been dividing
your heart into parts,
splitting scenery
between your eyes.

I could be one
who leads you into
some sense of solace,
but will you decide
when to unite
both of your wings
to take flight?