Modern Romanticism

I’m too adrift
to be given grace,
to be allowed
a single second
of space.

For I want to redraw
what won’t be
revived for me.

It’s just a sign
of loudest
desperation.

I could wail
with these sails,
burning in winds
that cut skin
too loose
to be attached
to this form.

I’m driving this rain
flooding these decks,
left to rot
in a startled heart.

Terrified eyes,
rushing cheeks
are representing
the sudden shame
of wanting answers
that entered a grave
all too quickly.