War Torn

Adrift upon the ocean deep
caught in habits of a war
gone on for far too long,
a nightmare scene became
an all-engulfing taste
of war's reality.

Violent, archaic winds
sloughed o'er waves
of satin's sheen,
to bring the falsity of death
to solitary forms' illusion;
feeding unrelentingly upon
the hearts and souls of those
who merely wished themselves
to be back home again;
and there, a scent of innocence
brought memories of peaceful days
swelling like a tide that wraps its way
around the purity of air.

When suddenly a crash,
a rushing roar of violence,
stole o'er the sultry wash
of summer waves. 'Twas then
the fires of hell exploded into life.
Simultaneous, another rush
lay claim to inner realms,
just as adrenaline kicked in
instigating pure instinctive moves
of bright red living energy.

Seeking for no more than form's survival,
even as he felt the ones
he thought he loved the best
sizzle, suffer, scream in primacy
for all that they thought should have been
lay shattered at their feet,
and an agony of death began
to claim them one by one
in a state of pure eruptive violence.

Horrifyingly believable
that blind relief of death left unabated
crashing so insanely to the deck
and for just one moment, brilliantly,
a sense of startled light
imploded into everything,
followed by the purity
of streaming liquid energy
that spread too far, too fast,
too utterly compelled into participation
by one great wave of hatred finally spent
that rent all solidarity asunder.

Deliciously, flames licked at flesh and blood
in a passion of desire held too long within denial;
extinguishing the starlit dreams
of too many souls in just the flash
and fury of its flame,
that reached for a magnificence
that death just cannot seem
to bring about.

Then an empathy kicked in,
deeper than a sympathy could ever be,
as he began to feel the suffering
that still went on back there,
somehow magnetized to one who simply
could not die too soon for his descendants;
clinging to an anguish that became
his only tie to life in time and flesh;
knowing only that his soul
should never come to know
the fantasy of matter's end.

Their spirits joined, becoming one
as he tried to help him past his pain,
only to find his flesh too spent
to take another breathe;
and there within his arms
in a final scream of agony's release,
one ceased to cling to flesh at all,
yet he swears some part of him
yet flies o'er sparkling seas;
where still, a spark
of his significance resides.

Angles and angels redeemed him that day;
yet the memory of haunting screams
would stream right through
the days and nights of what became his life.
Horrific sounds of silence repeating
a tone that never should have come to be,
still seeking for a harmony somehow.

Illusively, upon a drift of wind,
they fly still o'er those waves
of deep complexity,
seeking for the healing love
they never found in life . . .


Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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