Modern Romanticism

You’re sharing sides
with the last bite
of your conformity.

You’re losing light,
dreaming during day
for the night
to welcome you back
to count breaths.

You see thunder
where there should
be a guiding sunrise.

You sense a storm
on the approach,
while you’re walking
over those tracks
from behind.

Take your pale extension
to impale it upon
heaps of snow.

You’ve long been aligned
with the sad nature
of steel cages.

When will dead grass
no longer hide you,
to move within fields
that have embraced others,
covered in dust?

You’re bleeding
from remaining veins.

You’re deafened
to your own screams.