Modern Romanticism

It’s a shelter.
It’s not security.

It’s forever.
It’s not eternity.

It is limitless,
because it’s a maze
to explore for sounds
to define the craze.

Am I aware?

Am I awake?

Have I fallen?
When did I break?

There’s a shell
to call home.
There’s this Hell
I cannot return
back to its sender,
because its face
I cannot remember.

I remain
in this place,
exposing no trace
back to where
everything began.

I am covered
inside this cave,
where echoes
are from heartbeats,
are from a retreat
from footfalls.