This Year

The market district disappeared.
One day here, then nevermore.
It's surety turned into mangled images
of yet another wave of dried out greed.
The sands of time were murmuring derision.

It never really mattered, their decisions.
For *something* greater than themselves
had driven them into a pit of ugly, wanting need.
It didn't matter, what their eyes perceived.
Nor any feel of flesh and great emotion.
So long ago, they'd chosen their devotion.
In forms no longer recognized as real.

But then, one day, their markets disappeared.
Lost within a flash of pain that seared
their chosen systems into something
they no longer recognized. Opening,
the tunnel just collapsed. Vision kept on
turning into fear. As terrorism wrapped
itself too near to where they were.

Twin towers fell. Alas, their fear has
never quite been quelled. The greatest dreams
were shattering in them. NO...! The scream
lived on in all their wanton dreams.
A feel of grief that would not go away.
Multiplying every hidden fear.
Moving far away, then all too near.
No matter all the politics, we feel.
Play another role, and know the actors
as unreal.

It has been spent. The market where
our innocence once chose to play within.
Power plays and needs of greed
become the greatest sin. Suffering, the seeds
of their religions came to bleed - supposedly
for deity, or so they claimed. I saw it in
the pouring rain. That truth they never dared
to ever utter.

The politicians of the holy orders.
Fallen far beyond the borders.
Clinging to the things that they denied.
Living in a fantasy where grief
could not abide. But if their heaven
can't contain it all, what's left...?
Empty churches, souls bereft.
Their one god living them to death.

Mind could not live within such emptiness.
While flesh was growing weaker, still unrhymed.
Vouching for the passing of all time.
Lost within the never world of mists
that never found the wealth of just
one loving kiss. Just yours and mine.
Living in a state of great destruction.
Unable to adhere to such reductions.

And then, the market district disappeared.
Santa Claus must reinstate reindeers.
One day here, then nevermore.
The surety turned into mangled images
of yet another wave of dried out greed.
The sands of time were murmuring derision.
Mirroring the wrong of their decisions.
The seasons kept on turning.
This year, their Christmas cheer was burning
fitfully in prisons of their hearts...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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