Been sitting on the dark side
of the moon,
just contemplating everything. I thought
perhaps, that given time and space, I might
at last make sense of what this life has meant;
yet alas, that hasn't come to be at all.
Even as I glimpsed reflections
of the sun,
I somehow came to know the darkness all
too well; for it spoke to me, consistently,
while I was floating there within those rays
of never-ending light. It spoke of all the
madness of our modern paranoia; and too,
of all the ills we seek to hide, so deep
It cried out within that agony
of shadow lands,
where murkiness was known to be the norm.
And no matter that the sun rose brightly
in a morning sky, still shadows lurked more
poignantly than sunshine's golden beams.
Banshee-like, it screamed itself into
this flesh of being - without a pause; unable
to make sense of all the murdered innocence
(and so, somehow, alike to me). A different
kind of cold is coming; blowing cross the desert
wastes of night, where repeatedly, the death it
brings is simply covered over by another storm
of blowing sand and particles of grit.
He slept within a cave-like
to look as if a temple of some ancient deity;
and there he prayed to break the light of day
with all the money he'd been granted, in the
ever-opening abyss of the love his parents
should have given him. A pleasant scent
of opium was floating in the air; for it would
never do if he were e'er to feel his pain
for real. Autumn came to being, yet he
never even noticed its abundance.
For there he sat, sifting
through the electronic
aftermath that all his schemes had brought
to be in waves of wild destruction; reaching
yet again for realms of icy cold intelligence.
And this, he made his meditation; offering
his sacrifice of someone else's blood, to a
power that he thought of as his god, just as
the ancients did (in times that others know
to be just dead and gone).
But he dared not face the
source of the destructive
power that he unleashed in this, nor of the very
personal toll he'd have to pay within a future that
he could not see at all. For no money gathered
could ever come to compensate the agony
that he must come to feel, just when reality
caught up to him again. Yet now, he reveled
in a celebration; as if victorious, even as those
shadow lands began to murmur themselves
towards the very space he occupied.
They did not have to fly,
they simply willed
themselves to be, ever closer to the source
of all their misery; and he had made himself
an entrance, after all - there, upon
the dark side of the moon...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...