Summer love. The autumn
gathering the hues of its survival.
Subdued by the humidity, the rays
began to fall and mesh into a lush
and lonely stretch of land.
The winter wind was whispering
like sirens in the misty morning times.
A purple rose just opening
into another lonely lover's death.
When all the best could only fall
so shortly after rising - the loving
missed became a burden born.
Too-warm would quickly
turn to icy cold.
Interred within the flesh, another mystery
was torn from tattered pages of a book
of history. The scientists would dance
in glee beneath the waning moon.
Utterly, the stillness rent in half
by those unearthly booms of atoms
being torn into the many halves of mind.
While the empty graves still uttered
of a past that never found a way
into the play of future being born.
What else was left, within
the modern rush...?
But dying flings and poets' schemes -
still dreaming of an endless summer love...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .