Modern Romanticism

Upon one time,
those missing heartbeats
were offered a fair dose
of lasting gratitude.

Upon another time,
I began to understand
what little there is
in such silence.

The life I’ve refused,
the breaths I’ve stifled
have given me a third eye
to see what I let
die without grace.

It’s in the snow,
lost, confused without
anything in tow.

It’s dreaming
from being beneath
an eclipsed sun.

I must bring back
the words that I’ve yet
to scream, to shout
from the bottommost
of this grave,
this bed.

Six feet under
a world that sings,
while I’m shuddering
in the silence
I turned into music.

I’ve been dancing
for far too long
to a chiming void.