Modern Romanticism

Respect your history
while it's burning
with pages in an uproar.

Your environment
shows what time it is,
on charred lands.

You’ve disabled yourself
in your walk ahead,
dragging a cross.

You’re little more
than a dying star
in this endless night.

Forge your reflection
from a melted shoreline.
Tear out your opportunity
from thinning purpose.
Breathe in the smoke
that trails like curtains.

What’s more for you to hide,
while you go gray
in this feeble aftermath?

Defeat’s been your anchor,
the bandage for your sore.

Make this time your thunder,
reconnecting you to a vision.