In the Grasp

Sunday evening silence
in the center of the stones.
The alterations were unraveling.
The spool of thread lay empty, spent.
The broken needle lodged in flesh.
A hand that never bent that way again.
Fingertips kept going numb.
It never really was much fun.
This living in the grasp of your unrest.

Strange how things keep happening
just out of our control. Sneaking up
and hanging out of reach until we
finally grasp the nuance of their presence.
A news clip hints at yet another wave -
building swiftly to the west or east,
while north and south inflate themselves
like yeast in rising dough,
refusing to become themselves
within their microwaves.

A tension starts to build within the air.
Another Monday morning rush, beware.
It's rising up inside of you already.
Almost dizzy, quite unsteady.
Retirement without a sense of peace.
Dozing off, but never quite asleep.
You sense it hanging in the air.
Unaware of what you really feel.

Startled awake by a shivering quake.
As if the air were sizzling on high.
Whitewashed light within the darkness
glares in electronic mimicry.
You try to set them free, those droning
voices playing havoc in your head.
But somewhere there, along the way,
you must have lost the key.

Early morning - rise to find your uniform is torn.
You never liked it anyway. Why couldn't you
just wear your jeans? While somewhere
deep inside, the dream abides.
Losing strength each time you choose
to turn the other way.
Sunday evening silence
in the center of the stones.
The alterations were unraveling.
The spool of thread lay empty, spent.
The broken needle lodged in flesh.
A hand that never bent that way again.
Fingertips kept going numb.
It never really was much fun.
This living in the grasp of your unrest...

? Michaelette ?

12/07/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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