Summer carries on.
All the early blooms of spring are gone.
Shades of green are deeper now,
the long grass turning dry.
Lazily, a buzzard sweeps
great circles in the sky.
Sunshine, but the feel is not the same.
Echoing, the breeze repeats
the myths of ancient names.
Teiresias - the seer was never really blind at all.
He watched the power structures start to fall.
There were warnings of catastrophe.
Deaf - the figures of authority.
"Crazy man, he can't be right.
Lock him up, out of my sight."
The politicians anxiously agreed,
bowing to the rulings of a king.
They issued yet another warped decree.
Degrees of information that
were washing out to sea.
The virus was undaunted
by the ancient prayer's need.
Anger, rage - and seek revenge -
if not upon another, than yourself.
Call angels and/or devils to avenge
the ugly greed of jealous, over-powered
needs of majesty.
Else go the other way, what do you think?
War games and then the blood ran free,
sinking in the silent sea of virgin soil.
Visions of a nightmare now come true.
Sun to bleach the grass of morning dew.
The feel of glory lost in the real telling
of the story played back through
one living heart.
Depressed, the animation
gave them restless attitudes.
Civilized, the multitude of cultured
came to fall - into an endless pit
of degradation. Egos swelling
in unruly, great inflation. Yet all the while,
deep within their moodiness, there lay a light.
Cool, the fire of the ancient sight.
Shocking, it's simplicity
could heal the wounds
of all their many frights.
Secrets rose, the season turned to fall.
Sorrow filled the emptiness, where once
a feel of love had graced them all.
Educated in a round of great redundancy.
Warped, the twists and turns of merely
play-writes' gendered minds. Just then,
the sirens start to sing again.
Tales of the days of yore
when all of life was spring.
To face one's death in increments
is not an easy thing...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2002 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .