The Feast

Like playing a computer game.
Or bombing the Mid East.
Your reality remains the same.
The world is your feast.

Movies playing on a screen.
Ignore the screams, it can't be real.
Dreams into reality.
The fantasy, the feel.

Surreal, the substitute for all
that used to be sublime.
Spirits drifting aimlessly
in man created time.

Absorbed so intimately
in the mind.
Ignore the heart
and play another game.

Give your child a name
that once belonged to that,
your god. It's all the same,
a fantasy, it seems.

Ignore the great extremes
of contradiction.
Pretend the co-addictions
aren't real.

Group it right,
turn off the nightly news.
Peer to peer,
just soaking in the view.

Tell yourself that all
the many others never
understood the place
in which you landed.

Believe only the feelings
that expand your poor success.
Exponentially delete
all of the rest.

Name an object.
Make it real.
Ignore the feel
of dreams come true.

Pronounce again
your basic ABC's.
Frame that one degree
as you forget the lessons learned.

Live within the past,
yet earn another big reward.
You take the best
and never give at all.

Don't believe the feel
of falling down.
Deny the pain,
project it all around.

Why should you feel
the consequence
of all the lies
you countenance?

Like playing a computer game.
Or bombing the Mid East.
Your reality remains the same.
The world is your feast.

What is it that the feast
can't satisfy...?

? Michaelette ?

12/21/2002
Copyright© 2002 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .