Of Anima

He was obsessed with his own soul.
He saw it in the image of the feminine.
None ever burned so bright
as that one smile of delight
glowing on his little daughter's face.

Time went on, and for a while
he was content. Imagery made way
into a string of long lost days.
His daughter grew, he never really
knew her well at all.

But still, he was obsessed
by her condition. He couldn't
understand the pain she felt.
Old and spent, he came and went,
just telling her it all would be okay.

He loved her so,
yet the truth of his soul
was drifting into
deep oblivion...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2002 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .