Of Thee

Naïve. She never really did believe
the capabilities she held. Innocent.
A child in her heart. Then it would start.
The fussing and the fidgeting.

Desiring and wishing things
were better than they'd ever been before.
One eye upon the door, she held it closed.
To keep away the monsters that indwelled.

Pressure built. The tension rose.
As if something outside imposed
a penalty for all that she denied.
The banshees started screaming
through her eyes.

Her tongue became too razor sharp.
The angel threw away its harp.
Smoldering, the scent of hell
would rise.

Nostrils flaring. Sockets glaring.
Vermin seeping in and out.
The need to shout arising
as she fell.

And no one there could quell
her misery. The monsters,
uncontrolled, rose from the sea.
Then, for a time, she'd take the form
of thee...

? Michaelette ?

1/13/2004
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .