Modern Romanticism

Sweeping away
rubble from our dreams,
fire from our streams
led us to dissolve
our awareness.

The burning bush
had our wise demons,
that we forsook,
calling them negative space
to overlook.

We began seeing less,
sleeping to isolate
a balanced breathing rate.

We stopped holding on,
drifting into the undertow
where we laid low.

Failing to embrace
the wild storm
caused us to be torn
into separate stories.

Fearing to heed
the rapid heartbeats,
slowed us to a spot
to become undone.

Is there ever to be
another chance
to turn back?

We’ve faltered,
disconnected in a flash
of just one more
discontinued day.