Something Is Coming

*Something* is coming - again...
which way will it go down this time...?
What plots and plans and devious games
are they really going to play this time around?
I'd rather stay here underground, alone -
than participate in all those ugly games
that they keep programming into our lives.,

The crowd has turned into a mob again.
Linked minds that sink into the swamp
that's only equal at the lowest level -
influenced by those left in command.
But there's no one they can really
blame this time around - for all of them
have come to learn too much of all
the machinations great regimes have made.

How is it they still name it a progression...?
Conscience that does not include a single touch of love.
Hearts constricted by the growing moments
of the crises named disaster and reported
in cold tones each night as news.
Beyond our want or need or reach,
the heads of industries begun so long ago
have reached a point too far beyond control.

Was it really so far past, that family meant
loving moments shared in an equality
of loving generosity...? Yet now, even
the flare of great celebrities have come
to share the degradation and depression
that they so long denied within themselves.
Flaring styles of life conceived by other
people's work and the credulity of fame.
New generations supersede the values
we once lived so constantly . And yet,
that awesome God they feared and listened to,
was never really flesh - alas, another tale
fabricated by the lashings of a celebrated host
that can now be seen as dwindling minorities.

It all began in innocence - a mere distraction.
Democracy - a cure for all the many ills of poor -
misused past definitions of abuse. Let's pretend
the mending's all been done by someone else
this time. Work another hour at that job you find
so tedious, just so the seamstress fully utilizes
yet another blandished role. We're supposed to be
adults, or so they say. But who are we without the
many stars cast in the roles played on that much
misused and overburdened stage? And who really
pays the dues for all the stage-fright that they
seem to overcome so easily in photographic frames?

Projection - it is all about projection.
Injected by a power they call higher.
It's not enough - that it is done within those
one to one relations - no, then they turn it
into reams of film that play through some
ambiguous machine. And reality is split within our minds.
Over and over again. Programming to make amends
for all the love we really need to give and to receive.
Reruns making profits for the famed. Flashing
colors, sound and mood - directions of another
oddity of mood - followed as if life could be contained
forever in a reel of film. Where now...? The innocence
that used to sing within our hearts. Those precious
moments when the world used to ring in harmony.

Is it all no more than just another scam?
Con-artists and the thieves that claim
they own so many lands. Wealth measured
by the zeroes added on. Prosperity so limited,
that only just a few can claim it theirs.
The hierarchy and pyramids of schemes.
Achieve a greater share of wealth by
never really working hard at all - at anything
besides the lying scams. Kiss another ass
so that you make another profit in the market.

There has to be a better way than this.
Where moments build to an unspoken bliss.
Interactions honestly experienced at core.
The need is not for more of molten gold.
The universe enfolds unending moments.
Scenarios of change can seldom really
make a difference, when the minds of those
who still create the scenes are ever selfishly
involved within the dying dream of power games
that never tamed instinctual reactions.

Punishment or mercy? You or I - which one
of us shall die this time around? This time, shall
we make it by long distance? A sacrifice of life
for what's been labeled matter minus energy converging.
Can love abide within such limitations of these
very human lives? Particles or waves...?
Uncanny how each life is made of both
and ever more than any particle or wave
of rushing feelings can contrive into continuance.

The philosophers grow silent as the prophecy
foretells itself as real. Yet the end is still the end,
and nothing more. Death waits for every life
that is newborn. Shall we operate in hopes
of generating more of youth again? Or will we
finally stop to feel the difference? For the
death of flesh does not a soul destroy.

It matters not, the making of religious creeds
and deeds. Heaven that they saved up in the bank,
spent by the authorities, in ever greater portion.
Credits in the red - even the nations of the world
know that tale all too well. Numbered equations
are just one part, of what the whole of life
is all about.

*Something* is coming... again...
which way will it go this time around...?
Will we be lost or ever found?
Ultimately, life itself goes on.
Wond'ring why the truth of speech
has been reserved for those who
make 'the news' no more than just
another industry of greed...

? Michaelette ?

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