An Indentation

An indentation reaching deep into eternity.
No matter how they try to flee, the chasm must
be met within their flesh. Within the daring do
of loving runes. Where rapture captures demons
deep within. The lovers plea with fate, then take
the future into hands and brains instead. Ignoring
all the living threads that bind them back into
their ignorance.

Troubled by insouciance, indifferent to the dues
that still accrue inside their names. They never really
cared to care at all. Ignoring calls of past morality.
Denying any essence in the halls of ethical.
Snoring through the lessons meant to call
their souls into the feel of flesh. Psychologized
while flying through a moon composed of
whizzing drugs and molten particles.
Mugged without the feel of an attack.
Paper-backed and ill at ease. Seeking still
to please an ancient curse.

Written in a time preformed by verse.
When earth began to beat itself alive.
Where tone must be the quality
forever formed within the matrix
of the words they used. Still unexcused
for their behavior in the halls of all survival.
For there were always those who thought
themselves yet better. Reaching for the gold
instead of stars that lived in fiery incandescence.
Avoiding trips that led to inner strife.
Expending pain into the unaware.

Aspects of a situation. Hovering within the air.
While riddles played unfairness to obscene.
Beckoning, the muses laughed, each time
another soul fell into them. Battling extremity,
within the loss of self. While there, beyond
imagination, universal images would blast
another being into nothing there at all.
'Twas the fall of intellect into a human mode
of understanding. No model lived to tell them
how to be. As their hearts were beating,
wildly awake.

Experience, within a present moment.
Reaching into ancient mystery.
Finding wealth within the understanding
that there was no understanding history.
Where intellect bleached all emotion out.
Creating heroes that had never lived at all.
Then on into divinity, the lies and alibis.
Time went on. The gods were never pleased.
By sacrificial rites of their engorged ignominy.

Found within a crease, an indentation.
Reaching deep into eternity.
No matter how they try to flee, the chasm must
be met within their flesh. Within the daring do
of loving runes. Where rapture captures demons
deep within. The lovers plea with fate, then take
the future into hands and brains instead. Ignoring
all the living threads that bind them back into
into their ignorance...

? Michaelette ?

12/13/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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