Modern Romanticism

It seeks the time
we spent our seconds
not dragging our feet,
not living in mud.

Questions smothered tones
from loud certainty.
An answer came to eclipse
more we wanted to know.

We questioned to address
our distance from any
route to an aftermath.

Questions lifted curses,
kept us enthralled
inside keenest interest.

Upon our crossing
a single footstep
over a bright line,
we fell silent
with the death
of our study.

That final page
lifted our asymmetry
into cold finality.

One more lost word
fit the puzzle
we didn’t wish to solve.