The Fool

The little fears seem innocent.
A touch, a feel, a sight, a scent.
Here and gone into a larger pool.
Another dive, and then you drown,
you fool.

That wise old man that seemed so tame.
He lives the magic of the game inside.
Genius of the nether realms, where
power recreates itself again.

He has no want of art or beauty.
The power of control is what he needs.
Lightning flying from his fingertips
as he conceives a plot to kill
another foe.

He never cared for what the others know.
For centuries, he's followed in the path
of that one certain voice that always
called his name.

He thought by now he'd have the power
of fame and wealth set at his feet.
Yet no one reeled within the gross
hypnosis that he used. He bit their neck,
and yet their lives refused to yield
their power unto him.

He rent them, deep into their flesh
until their bones were shining whitely
in the endless night - still no response.
Where once each of their deaths became
his flesh, now something great had
changed in within their souls.

Appalled, he sought and found the taste
and scent of loving innocence within them.
Blasphemy! An utterance of love within
the darkness of his temple.

The beast was lashing out without appeal.
The neophytes sequestered in the safety
of a cage that now congealed. Metal
swarming all across the floor.

That wise old man that seemed so tame.
He lived the magic of the game.
Small genius of the nether realms,
where power always tends to recreate
itself again in mortal form.

The little fears seem innocent.
A touch, a feel, a sight, a scent.
Here and gone into a larger pool.
Another dive, and then you drown, you fool...

? Michaelette ?

10/31/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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