Modern Romanticism

Earthen eyes
quake from debris
thrown at them.

There is nothing
to have as salvage
from a pillaged empire.

There is just
these words to repeat,
those that aren’t just,
being those I must
speak anyway.

For I am reviewing
what I’ve lost,
what I have tossed
at a blue sky
on delicate knees.

It came at a cost,
as it ended with loss
of much once dreamed
to be visible.

There’s these scars
drawn as the finest lines,
as I am drifting
between them,
between the stories
they’re holding.

Once as ugliness,
once as jagged wounds,
turning into beautiful,
shapeless imagery
pushing me for miles,
as I’m crawling.