To Your Death

Age doesn't matters in affairs of the heart.
Older and wiser just seem to stop and start.
A spark of chaos in the order lived.
Hard, and then yet harder, to forgive.
As all the pain within your heart expands.
And still, the social circuit gives commands.

While the meaning that you used to hold so dear
founders in an endless stream of tears.
Heart throbbing with emotion when
the pain becomes too real. And thus
the darkness grew again, in you.
The crisis marked in ministry within the ICU.

Where the nurses and the doctors came between
the pain induced, as if a melting stream were rolling
down through you from mountains high above.
For just a little while, they protected you from them.
But then they sent you home, to all of this.
Remembered bliss that cut you to the core.

The misery of aching loss, no matter how
the gods were oft' implored. When the loving
that was once held in your heart, departs
within a thief that played a part to conquer you.
Hard and cold, elite and arrogant.
The suffering he chose to lend just then.

Like nothing that you'd ever known before.
No matter scores of years that lay within
a heap behind you. They cut you to the core
and left you bleeding to the death, without
a care. And the whole of all your life
just fell apart.

No matter what, you couldn't find a way
to start again. Not in all the years and tears
that overwhelmed you then. For the I of you
was spent on someone other. As you lay
beneath the covers, discontent. The road,
the path had twisted in upon itself. Its bends
no longer led you anywhere.

The aged spoke in platitudes. While youth
screamed out in force. The little battles
leading to extravagance and yet more world wars.
So that, no matter where you sought a sense
of peace as you grew older, the pressures
of society grew bolder.

No matter all the strength that you had lost.
No matter that you couldn't pay the cost,
not anymore. And then you felt it true,
as those you loved began to wish you
yet more quickly to their fear of death.
Personal, the composition.
Platitudes held in absenteeism.
Not showing themselves till the funeral.
Family members feeding off the thrill
of your departure.  Too ready too collect
a price - that held you there,
beyond your testament...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .