Modern Romanticism

Painful burial
for a second time
throwing me into you,
hoping to be
near to you,
merged within
the grains.

A futile attempt
has me coming back up
to see the sunlight,
an orb that blinds,
burns me to dislike
needing to live
in disconnection.

I just enter
a shroud,
your ghost,
my story
flipping through
countless pages
to see what I
might not know.

I just trip
over invisible wires,
carrying a sentence
decided of a judge
to imprison me
in a memory.

As stiff as the night
that never loses
its dark age,
I’ll keep wandering
for more to find,
without a hand
to hold,
to bring close.