Modern Romanticism

Inside your eyes,
sunlight has escaped,
sadness has drawn
its long trace.

You want to live,
as you are swimming
in the heart
of a scorning storm.

You’re here to revisit
a single face, from one
decorated grave,
extended shadow.

You want to back away
to begin to sing.
You just repeat the echoes
of the vacancy
in your soul.

It’s the space in you,
it’s the hour that fled
from your arms,
your tattered clothes.

What warmth
will ever raise you,
from your shell,
from your Hell?

A kiss from the past
has contained you
in its spread,
in the red, where it
has trapped you.