lived and breathed the waste that they created.
Fleeting pain the one great wake-up call.
They did their best to just ignore the fall
of faded dreams that once entranced them all.
The meaning and the worth seemed lost.
Their things were never worth the cost.
What could it mean, when feeling was embalmed...?
Ice running through their heated veins.
Their intellects gone quite insane.
Dark secrets lurked in shadows, quite berserk.
now and then, a scream would wail in the night.
Rousing yet another feel of fright.
Their children caught just in between
their days of strife and nights that dreamed too true.
Difficult - to calm such sacred moods.
Suffering the innocence imputed to be
lost along the way. The feel of love was lost.
The cost remained unpayable. Priceless hosts
of memories became the ghosts their progenies
must worship in the absence of an utter deity.
still, they had to live and breathe
the waste that they created.
Bereft, their nature faded in the breeze.
While whispered schemes of golden dreams
that lay upon the shore, were captured
by the oceans' raging roar...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .