The Many Ills

The clouds of wrath were growing thin.
Illusion lost, the cost of sin
was imminently real.
Instinct fading, all that they could feel
was lost in guilt.

From one side to the other,
as blind beliefs began to falter,
extremities arose in the confusion.
Clinging to an attitude of righteousness,
their intellects still moved them, on and on.

The laws engraved amid their vast illusion.
'Twas man and mind that chose to make
their deaths pre-imminent. Intellects
that knew of only strategy unmitigated
by the hearts that beat them into life.

Wind rushing in. The spirits of the lost
and lonely victims of sobriety are screaming
for the dreams that ended here. Drawn in
by thoughts that grew too large to hold.
While that great sense of innocence
was sold upon the block of slavery.

Down deep, inside democracy,
the serpent's fangs still held
the toxic waste of lives that lived
unable to behold the sight of beauty.
Destruction reigned within the world
of man and mind, in icy cold
that could not hold the love
of heart and soul.

The clouds of wrath were growing thin.
Illusion lost, the cost of sin
was imminently real.
Instinct fading, all that they could feel
was lost in guilt. Yet still,
the many ills created,
drew their life from them...

? Michaelette ?

4/5/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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