Another Gloomy Sunday

Sunday gloom. The gods are not appeased.
Too many of their worshippers now locked
within their human history of misery.
Their discontent is moving deep
within the heart of all that is.

Anciently, the deities remain
the same amid men's complex games.
No longer fed on adoration;
all of mankind's irritations
flowing through the chaos
of their chains.

Related by the earth and air and sea.
A spark of fire, living destiny.
Reaching up and touching down,
the flight was always incomplete
somehow.

The brightness of the days is withering.
The birds no longer have an urge to sing.
Boredom roams within their homes anew.
Clinging to a past they thought they knew.
Bringing yet another wave of all the unlived
feelings buried in their living graves.

A quiver and a breaking.
The ground they owned was shaking.
The animals were running wild again.
Chasms in the soil grown so large
it was as if they were entombed
within the structures once improved
by men.

Now nothing fits the pictures that they took.
Look and see the roles they play.
Reality must be their fantasies.
While still the world turns into
a span of changing seasons.
Conquering the best of them
with slow and easy motion.
Magical, the potion of Her love.

Another gloomy Sunday.
The deities are not appeased.
Their discontent is moving deep
within the heart of all that life can be...

? Michaelette ?

11/2/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .