Modern Romanticism

Granting a glimpse
of what occurs
behind closed doors,
from inside a space
translated from
fallen grace.

There are enough blocks
to build back again,
to reverse this ruin,
but I want to wilt
in the growing storm.

A fresh downpour
for me, among heavy,
isolating crowds.

I’m a face to pick out,
like a petal
from a colorless garden.

Channel this thunder
for a brief understanding
of what I’ve got left,
once it illuminates.

Change this route
from a slope,
onto a plain pathway,
a forward momentum.

I’ve chosen a knot,
reverting to complication,
while promises soak
in more stains
than tears.