Romantics Staring Into The Sun

A dying glimmer of hope can stretch for miles with nowhere to rest, not a peaceful moment to cope, with a grip of mentality and strengthened mortality as an excuse upon the lips. Where are the words that are whispered in thin wisps of chilled air towards another who lies breathing and living beside? They fade and are consumed by surrounding atmospheres rather than the ears for which they were intended. Smooth sailing sinks into failing, a slice in the fabric gives way to an entire break from knowledge and wisdom and perhaps even love for if love ever lived we'd all be hopeless and romantic.

A tip of the hat in a moment in passing can express nothing and only feel habitual like the slow intake of air and the faster exhale of lies that grow and turn over in our rapidly pacing graves that sink lower into water and fill higher with dirt. What does it mean when a smile grows upon a face but is never really felt like the thought that the sun only existed to blind us? We ponder and wonder since our own existence surely means so much as we look directly at it for all of the answers that actually lie beneath us. In a capacity of minds that only use a portion, we expect so much and act on so little.