They never tamed the holy games they played.
Whips tipped with all the horror of the blood of innocence.
Sleek, the panther stole through midnight shadows of their souls.
While deep inside, the truth was gathering.
Life could not be a game until the turn around began.
Great Caesar turned into a martyred whore.
They thought they had gone past the days
Engaged in wars where all the bloody gore
was kept from those, their holy hands.
Politics still played on stages.
Audiences forced to an applause.
Trained to kill upon a false command.
The holy and the damned walked hand in hand.
Look deep into their eyes to find the lies.
Beyond the blank, hypnotic stare - the truth is waiting there.
Instincts blazing. Lightning hazes. Dreams that would not die.
Wallowing within each place survival made seem real.
Creation. Earthquakes changing everything that moved inside.
Filtering into the world wide.
Awake! You thought you knew the tone of
Homegrown independence is a farce.
For there, the heart is anchored in
the best and worst of all that we can see.
Silently, our destiny moves in.
It doesn't seem to be our friend.
Losing ground, the wilderness
is all that reaches out.
Heart grown weak, the love was wept away.
Silently, amid the dark of day.
He never knew that kind of blue
could bleed her life away.
He watched her as forever came to
fill the places he once held in her.
He'd turned it all to emptiness, a blur
Feeding all the heaviness to one impatient
delusions of self-comfort had become his only goal.
The turn around came back again.
He'd never been her friend.
A game, a point, another score -
that he had never planned.
Oceanic emptiness - no limit to its span
And the holy games he'd always played
turned round on him again...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2002 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .