Modern Romanticism

There’s one hole
for a single key.
You won’t wake up
to the sounds
of thunder,
choosing to dream
to find your way.

The path is just a trickle,
if you can follow.
It won’t mislead you,
because it’s a route
with no end.

Your state, like this,
will keep you crippled
against hope,
choosing endurance
over strength.

Melting in winter,
frozen during summer
was because you prayed
to be left alone.

Dying while alive,
kneeling to survive
all oncoming onslaughts
from those who know.

Come out
from behind
your hands,
that soft shield,
to see the sun
that remembers
that day
you were born.