Thief of Irony

Crying out for help, but never heard.
Smothered 'neath the fancies of the herd.
A healer that could never find a way
to their own cure.

Their hearts were young.
Their souls were ancient effigies
of energies that came and went
through futures of antiquities.

One's name was "Joy."
The other "Grief."
Oh, the awful thief of irony...

? Michaelette ?

4/5/2004
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .