Dark Mother of the driven
residing beyond time - become me now.
For I've never found a male figure
willing just to stand right here with me.
Great, the weight imposed
by those who live their lives
up near the tips of pyramids.
Especially to the many who are forced
to hold their weight up there,
within the ever growing lengths of feuds
that batter even their degrees.
There was a time when dreams
still had a chance to live within reality.
But now a storm of moodiness
revives their favorite feel of emptiness.
As every morning, inane ritual takes hold.
Habits that were never really justified.
Thinking that emotions lie within
the realm of man's controlling mind.
Fools that took the numb of ice -
deciding that it must be the called
the very best of all.
Going through the motions
Calling it devotion to a higher kind of cause.
Unseen, and thus invisible - those gods
of only male orientation. They never knew
the feel of pain attending every birth
into this life. Cycles ever flowing
in a rush of blood that grows so deep within.
Psyches bent on sacred vows
of marriage to an alien creation.
Duty calling louder at
Believing that what others thought
to be the truth must somehow alter them.
Hypocrites, until the end begins.
When childishly, they cry out in alarm.
In a tone too harsh to heal anything.
Brandishing their hidden weapons then.
A flash of light, the knife is sinking in.
Enter then, another bright
To cover over all their endless fear
of being caught within a naked state
of desperation. Christian shame
arises as a redness sinking quickly
into black. Unnoticed, yet another
spark is quenched. By all the sordid
judges that are sitting on the bench.
Robes covering the feel of their insanity.
Incessantly, they hear
Then they back into the feel of ease again.
Where black and white could not be cast
into the shadowed realms of past; but
chose instead to keep outdated rhythms
moving on inside their minds. Unhearing
as they listened. Never sweat, but only glisten.
And so, their all too mortal eyes perceived
their endless blasphemies as good.
Small pleasures found in
on the weak and powerless.
Attempting yet to fill their emptiness
within the social norms of lies
they call success. Until, within a moment
of the purest harmony, the sacred chose
to move their soul back into them.
High to low to in between
A chaos that confused their figured norms.
Uncounted, all the glitches in their chosen
programming. Unfounded definitions
of their monetary climbs to such success.
Observing the catastrophe so many lives
had come to be, the Goddess flung
the blindfold in the fire.
And from the ash... oh
Love's greatest of desires came to pass.
A faerytale, perhaps. But then again,
the strange and alien, await us
in the great unknown of gaps.
Dark Mother of the rising tides,
reside within them now...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .