Modern Romanticism

Your choice is to
surrender to silence,
burden your eyes
with visions of violence.

It is this,
while you never
find sustenance
in the fountains,
in the tears
wandering away
from your shadows,
your veil.

When it swells,
you sink under
the invited storms,
crashing with
the onslaught
of waves.

Something within
the preferred malady
allows for this
to keep you entertained,
to continue your refrain
from the cure,
the long road.

Life is speaking
one hollow tune,
unravelling you
from your roots
to your fingertips
held under light,
trembling in fright.

A kiss could let
your wings soar,
your footsteps cross
the harrowing waters
to make it to shore.