Modern Romanticism

An ignited path
invites me, on a whisper,
loosened from rotting lips.

An imminent voyage
is presenting a risk
I’ve not seen before.

I’m letting my skin
be burned, starting from
my outreaching fingertips.

I’m deaf to my screams,
as I’m overtaken
in this release.

Distanced from the light
of this burning avenue,
I’m dragging my flesh
through the dark.

I’m blind to the sparks
that die as quickly
as my heartbeats.

I commit nothing
to the afterlife,
letting solitude guide
what little I’ve left
to provide.

I present mere residue
in the gust bellowed
from my final breath,
moving on into
a frozen paradise.