Brutal, the awakening, that
wasn't meant to be.
Sexual, the energy of power.
Red and gold, the eyes that glow aside.
See it pulsing there, just at the corner
of your vision. Focus and it disappears again.
Innocence was bled from you
so very long ago.
You trusted them to lead you to the light.
The night is dark, the nightmare real.
There is no way to feel that it's all right.
Believe in them, and fade just out of sight.
Shame and guilt, conspiracy
- the high and low
with nothing in between - there where loving
hearts were left behind, within the might
have been. Mind and power gain for them
as they pretend to really care.
Ornaments and flowing robes.
The hidden tabernacles.
Icons made of purest gold.
The iron of the shackles.
Evil dwells within the holy men.
Outstanding leaders reaching
into the evil that they preach.
Live the lie, deny the truth,
no matter what the cost.
What secrets lie within
the dungeons deep?
Grasping for the glory of
they never knew. Using youth
to further their abuse. Political,
the power reaches into everything.
Honor never lived in their extremes.
Love was lost so long ago,
when they refused to grieve.
Grace is gone, yet still they cling
to that cross of aged suffering.
Take another shower and be clean.
Son crucified, the father
his lust for life again. No matter
that its gone awry with age.
Costume donned, he's standing,
The hand, the mouth, the hidden
orifice. Do the deed that binds
it into them. Nightmares raging
in their growing days. The world
is civilized, they say. Just play
the game, pretending to be sane.
Push and shove, the angles
their wrath into the real.
Miracle of miracles, he lived
to tell the tale. Why is it
that he wishes himself dead...?
At the end, they see it all,
and try to fade away -
even as the next performance
is just getting under way...
...the wrath of a soul
that was meant to be whole,
forced into division...
some wonder where
the little girls
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2002, Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .