Modern Romanticism

It was a drop into circuitry
that ended our connection,
burned our wires,
continued our storm.

Panic was irreversible,
but did we know when?

It became a heartbeat
too many to recount
to revitalize our surge
in the pure streams.

Pain is relatable,
but do we know why?

We’re going on,
depleted of our former
nature of beginnings.

We’ve buried our minds
in timeless earth,
set fire to our flesh
to unite with death,
flooded our mouths
with toxic words.

When were we able
to scream without cursing
the state of our limits?

When were we able
to release, without hurling
our faces into snow?