Modern Romanticism

Colorful security.
Green to your pastures,
ice to your throat
that breathes in
the water
where you float,
whenever you don’t
ever sink.

Do you think
such sadness can thrive?
That you can survive
if you’re simply
on the brink?

You bloom petals
from a thousand cuts
on just two arms,
depriving your heart
from acute joy.

It cannot be brought
to you, for you
to recede to becoming
symptomless.

Life is forever a maze.
But to be lost
is temporary.