Modern Romanticism

Following trails
of smoke, from fires
turning a soul
into black coal.

It’s a side effect
of what torment
left me wandering
without aim.

It’s the light,
the dead dream
telling a story
from a fractured time.

Fallen for good,
without realizing
what is good
fr another step,
dragging the flood
mere feet behind.

Holding in breath,
making love with death,
confusing loud lightning
with hope,
with connection
to resurrection.

I’m hardened
with the stone
I wear for a face,
I bring along
to retrace
what I know.

I’m brought low
for the mud
that cakes
conflicted steps,
crucifies me
on the edge.