The Dead of Night

Nothing seemed real anymore.
Its capacity to touch her soul had fled.
She lay within the bed they used to share.
Fires of hell began to glint and glare.
He never found his heaven
after all was said and done.
The plumb tree flowered o'er the grave
he'd chosen as his own.

Bare bones were left,
still whispering his name.
A feel of great unrest had sprung
among the schemes that he once
set in motion. His limits of devotion
were extreme. He lived within
the misty realm of dreams.
While all his life decayed through days
and nights of blight and utter blasphemy.

To him she never could have been
any more than just idolatry.
His eyes had never seen
the real of her. The only feel
of great appeal was in his overdone
release. She used to tell herself
it didn't matter, but then the storm
broke over everything.
Exploding like a mine hid in the earth.
No time to find the meaning and the worth
before he moved himself to start it all again.

Blood that flowed in streams of a forgiveness.
Never quite enough to set her free.
She sought the love eternally denied.
At night, within the bed they'd shared,
she cried. A million tears could never heal
the harm he'd done to her.

And then he fled
back into the dead
of night again...

? Michaelette ?

4/25/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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