It has to be about love.
Meaningless, the time moved on,
stretching all the boundaries.
They profit from the loss of all the others.
Grandly, they pretend it is all right.
Greedily, their will bent on
expansion and accumulation.
They will the want into the need,
and thus expose their base desire,
demanding then an ownership
that never could be theirs.
Oh no, why can't they see...?
...it always has to be
composed of love...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2002, Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .