Modern Romanticism

Frozen faces
pledged the way
for the desertion
of lingering sunsets,
rebuilding an empire
far from dismay.

There are states
to curse,
as there are feelings
to disperse.

There’s a bridge
under a single inch
of fresh snow.

A survivor’s left
a lone road
for another to follow
for graceful steps,
for this pull
for ancient symmetry.

There is never
an exact amount
of fortitude
to raise up
on stable legs.

Hope acts as a torch
to melt pale dust
into hardened ambition.