Tinged With Aftertaste

The quiet, tinged with aftertaste.
A pinch of scented sulfur.
Alarmed, the fire altered as
a witness to their sin.

The backdrop was mechanical.
Stages of a molten ore of gold.
Intellect, divine, was cruel and cold.
A steamy mist - as lovers kissed -
was overtaking all the clarity.

Where once there used to be
a treasure lurking, the core
of all that is was melting
into nothingness.

The child of desire held
the fire in his hands.
Another blast, the past
turned into dust.

Shock and degradation,
as the ego was inflated,
past the bounds
of their humanity.

They used to think
the loving would be free.
Entangled in the greater tapestry,
their love had turned into
the terror felt.

Soft, sweet music.
Words of harmony.
Two lovers dancing -
whirl and sway of all
that felt the best.

Love's bubble ruptured
due to other's jealousy.
No matter how they fought,
the unity that they once sought
could not be had.

Alien, the stages just kept changing.
Outer force alive and rearranging
all their plans. Mystical, the healing
touch of love was named obscene.

The tortured screams were growing
quite unbearable in tense. Hearts
crying out while senses were denied.
There was a choice - to live the lie
or die. The in between was not
accepted currency within
their chosen marketing tecniques.

Numbers crunched, their lives
were measured out. Stage by stage,
the factual illusions of their doubt
were galvanized. Too tired to swim
upstream again, they had to just give in.

Floating on the greater currents
when a great upheaval took them in.
A wave, a force of pure and primal
power had begun. Overtaken,
all the brightness of the sun
became their smothering.

Never having learned another way,
they never knew just what to say or do.
Their blind beliefs were blown apart
just as the wave crashed into rocky shores.
Barely breathing, still their hearts
were seeking something more.

The meaning that eluded the machines.
The wave washed out to sea again.
The sun broke through the mist.
The quiet, tinged with aftertaste,
withheld the feel of bliss.

A pinch of scented sulfur
in the uprush of the air.
Alarmed, their lives were
altered beyond any recognition.
When consciousness returned,
they could not find the words
to tell of the experience they lived.

Somewhere else, the belfry held
the chiming of the bells.
Funereal, the hell of their descent.
Gleaming steel, the coffin spoke
of childish appeal. The tears were
born and died too deep inside.

The quiet, tinged with aftertaste.
A pinch of scented sulfur.
Alarmed, the fire altered as
the rules of all the games
were blamed on them...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
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