Turning Into

Metal turning into rust.
Their bones are turning into dust.
Cleanliness, the god they made,
has failed to appease satanic lust.
The trust they used to feel is far away,
faded in the mushroom clouds
that genius brought into the light of day.
Graveyards growing fuller than
the iron fence can hold.

Electric light can't stop the blight
of darkness on the move.
They cling to shadows lurking
in the corners, hid in gloom
to make more room for terror's prophecy.
Unbent, they seem so strong until
they break upon the pavement
of their self-created cages.
Imagination stretched upon the rack
of their great greed.

There never was a need that didn't matter.
The grief they bear becomes a living grave
where metal's turning into rust.
Their bones are turning into dust.
The science of the mind
has brought them shame.

Creating waste - atomically.
Poisonous, the viper struck
repeatedly in flesh that bled its fame.
The trust they used to feel is far away,
faded in the mushroom clouds
that genius brought into the light of day...

? Michaelette ?

4/21/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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