is warped. It doesn't run the same.
It doesn't help to shoulder all the blame.
Chaos and catastrophe, alas, are facts of life.
Living on the edge can bring collapse.
limits, giving in, to those suburbia's -
where all the sins seem sweet and innocent.
The evil seeps into the lights of freedom
owned and thus deprived of being.
oh, the letdown comes so hard and fast.
The American dream couldn't last.
Tempered in the fires of darkness dwelling
deep within the human fodder swelling
in the heat of merely mental battles.
between the tracts thought
separated by their minds - with time
and space intruding. Too intimate,
the human truths unfolding there inside.
Better now to run away and hide.
there was no where left to go.
The surfaces of all the world
were mired in the awful needs
of man and men alone. Once
thought to be of human kind.
While deep inside,
the darkness still indwells.
or wrong. The left or right.
Bindings of belief wound tight.
Suffocating heart and soul,
where insight and imagination dwell.
Why was it that their gods agreed
to let the evil live and thrive among them...?
swelling, quite insensitive.
What scent was that, so unidentified?
And where the touch that might yet satisfy
the awful feelings festering inside...?
The age of information spun its web.
the terror and the dread
of not quite knowing what came next.
Life lived within a nexus that controlled
the very soul of what they really ought to be.
Diverting consciousness into another fitful
game of win or loss that only lived within
The king. The tribe.
Victims all, without a side to cling to.
No matter all the moments when
their hearts cried out for love, and
nothing more. They thought it lived
upon some golden shore of wealth
and rights of ownership.
there - a child - small, unclaimed
urchin of the streets, was made to cast
away the innocence of love we all once
held to be invincible. Living there,
among the shells., that once were
mortal beings full of life.
upon a time, the child dared
to hold his head up high and seek the care
it needed. Beaten down, the greed of power
sought to use his hours up in fear. While all
the love that he held dear cried out in need -
the seeds too soon abandoned in the morass
of the mass.
hand, one hand, that held his there
within a gentle touch of understanding.
Why was that too much to ask
for anyone at all...? He'd caught a glimpse,
just once, before the call of darkness
blotted out his sight. Lovers walking
hand in hand, surrounded by delight.
days too long. The years too many.
Every risk he took led to more pain.
No matter what he tried to do, the rain
kept pouring down upon his head.
He could no longer settle for the stakes
of second best.
wasn't hard, the letting go.
The chemicals would make it so.
So easy to give up the battles given.
As life itself accepted yet another offering.
The second coming, then the third.
The numbers blurred so very long ago.
So sweet, the promise of relief
in one last letting go...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .