Love versus Lust

Love of beauty, lust for war.
Extremities of rich and poor.
Steam rising as the ice is dropped
into the fired pot.

A battle cry that overrides
the sweet and gentle lullaby.
Amid the violence, the baby screams.
When was it that their dreams had
turned so dark and full of power...?

There within the moonlit night.
Lying at their lovers' side.
The chemistry had turned
into insanity again.

Birth to death, the fear they built
was all that they had left to feel.
There was no safety found
within those stark and empty
mounds of fame and popularity.

Rise to only fall again.
Stuck within the mud just when
the angel softly came to comfort them.
They thought the angel was another fiend.
The tragedy they wrought was called supreme.

Players on a stage of life that never felt the real.
Dodging every slice of life that might have held
the feel of loving trust. Acting out the must
and ought as all their gardens grew the drought
of meaningless activity amid the repetition.

Cleanliness did not mean godliness.
Filth was merely ashes scattered
on the ever-wind. Dust to dust,
they willed the trust away.
They never planned on staying anyway.
Forever lost upon the cross
of suffering that they'd been taught.

Hidden in the shadows, dwelling
far away from light, belief in wrong
and right became obscene.
They thought the loving wasn't
worth a thing. Until their thoughts
and things were blown apart
upon a raging wind. The atmosphere
was changing constantly.

Ride the tide and roll with all the punches.
Gather flowers that would die within great bunches.
Too thin, the blood that ran within their veins.
The rising of their fame had fallen
deep into a pit of no return.

The cycles spun in ardent rectitude.
The spring became a dark and stormy mood.
Nature's wrath upon the path
of dark created by their wild intent.
Willed into a stillness that was never
meant to be. Shrieking in the silence
of their heartfelt misery.

Prosperity could not be found
among the weeds that filled the ground.
The base of home was crumbling
and nothing that they did conceived
the continuity. Ancient ages howling,
refusing to deny the sacred feel
of ritual that rises past the mind.

There amid the multitude,
one tiny angel stood. Hands
folded, it began a calming chant.
Sparkling, the particles of air
responded, lifting the enchantment
high, then drizzling affect into their lives.

Beyond the present lust for war.
Past all extremes of rich and poor.
Transcendence is a small
and quiet moment of experience.
The love is lost. The lust is spent.
The spiraling towers fell.
The richness of the earth was growing ill.

One small heart - still beating
with that kind of love so human
lingering within the precious beat.
Eternity would not compete
within their chosen games. The order
of their chaos was insane. The meaning
burrowed deep beneath their brains.

Love of beauty, lust for war.
Extremities of rich and poor.
Their opposites had not yet
reached the core...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
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