Modern Romanticism

Steady displacement
runs in this exhaustive
overview, over me.

I’m not deserting
what I know
in this exertion.

I’ve been steering
upon these waves,
crying out
one helpless roar,
anchoring sadness
in a frozen state.

I’m not moving,
while merely carving
a circle to be buried.

Time’s tested me,
made me its puppet,
while I dine
upon my denial,
out in the open,
far from retreat.

I say the wish,
I watch the star
pass me by.

I keep the hope,
fan the flame,
to continue guessing.