Modern Romanticism

Untied from hope
into becoming
its distant relation,
while dissolving
your evidence,
your bare scars
into memories.

Light will remain
what you crawl
back up to,
revolving around
the place of thoughts -
those brought back,
dragged near.

It is a mere glimpse
to a distant time,
as eclipses have turned
those moments,
those that escaped,
into swirls of dust.

Faces swim,
such memories dry
with the reused tears
you appear to cry
to drown relived seconds
back into the fade.

You hope for their
venomous return,
to startle your heart
back to restart,
after you realize again
that the future hides
your smile, beneath
a bed of thorns.