Modern Romanticism

What will I be
once I put away
all this infinity
I helped to be
a place to be
just me?

Fighting for the one
who did shudder
when the world
with its bewilderments
filled her mind,
faded her soul.

Repairing the one
whose heart had been
led astray.

What is left in me,
while I realize
where I’m torn?

Eyes are embedded
in a sculpture,
looking my way
to see if I am
also led astray.

Such eyes, in a memory
of what was, of what
can longer remain
criticize me,
cripple me in sight
of a man who lost
his course in the night.

Will I ever enjoy
a life in its evened,
grateful approach
towards the sky
where daylight
still survives?