Modern Romanticism

An echo hides,
being all you need
to come out
from your silent,
salient retreat
to nowhere.

The darkness
helps you to see
those scars,
those you reopen
to let out their light.

Their details
reach to infinity
to speak differently
to no one else
but you.

Their exposure
lets you weep,
while moonlight
gives to you
lasting serenity.

Words are lifted
from their echoes
more to those eyes,
to your heart,
than your ears.

On the surface,
your mind recalls
those who brought
their torches,
forward,
their lives
ever onward.

It is you
who is leaving
an old trail
for no one to follow.