To See Them Fall

Religion based on morbid attitudes.
A distant vision of a heaven
only found within the death
of flesh and form. Seeds planted
at conception and reborn.

And then the blaming games
begin in earnest. His or hers,
or thine or mine? Those feelings
that defy all time and space
and industry. For Oedipus,
the king, still reigns supreme.

His blindness hiding at the core
of the worst of all his dreams.
Essential, that unknowingness,
that grows in mortal man.
There never was a trauma
so completely held within
misunderstanding.

The glamour of the mists became
the whitening of sins that never were
redeemed at all. Memories that
wouldn't stop, still calling out to them.
Primal, all their claims to a supposed state
of unenchanted vows that held their noses
all too high within a vision of supposed,
great superiority.

Even as they claimed the oldest wealth
upon the earth as theirs, they defecated
on the graves that brought them to
their state of worth. Held too long,
the pendulum was gathering
another round of killing energy.

Righteousness abused, as they still used
the powers of their sexuality in ways
that never had to do with love at all.
Their claims to fame and fortune
were a farce. Money lenders gathering.
Thrown out of the temple, devising
a route, subliminal, to worm their way
back in.

Yet Jesus never found his twin on earth.
Just a grieving mother to relieve
the pain that lives in birth. Why was it
that he gave up on his life? Is giving up,
like him, the only answer to society
and strife? Surrender to the greater
power held by stated hands. Washed
within the water, never clean of all the pain
that they'd created.

The messages have been relieved
of all their primal power. Bible studies
cannot get beyond the feel
of popularity. The sunset leads
them all into a darkness
that they never cared to know.
Moon aglow, the stars are shivering.

Lost within the gain of icy cold,
and always intellectual, maneuvering.
Thoughts that cannot flow within
their hearts, too easily succumb
to all the hidden powers lying
in the darkness of their flesh.
As their perverted schemes
reverse and then attack
their progeny.

Sacred feelings can achieve
no more than sacristy these days;
in the base of their beliefs that never
led them to the sacred precincts
living in their hearts.

Religion based on morbid attitudes.
A distant vision of a heaven
only found within the death
of flesh and form. Seeds planted
at conception and reborn.
A hierarchy that never claimed
the basics of its form.

The king is dead. Long live the king.
Peasants seeking to believe that someone,
somewhere understood it all. And yet,
the spring is still composed of femininity.
Fast or slow, the heartbeat of the earth
would not abide their great abuse.
She rises yet again, to see them fall...

? Michaelette ?

6/13/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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