Valley of Grief

A valley of grief - indemnified;
the wisdom would go on
beyond their intellectual vanity.
A surety of intuition.
Festered wounds of misused fission.
The healing left too far behind to claim.

Asexual, the dispensation.
Reproduction based on only senseless passion.
Instincts turned to sick and twisted
animal appeal. It was too real.
No love of pain. No lust for pleasure.
Only measured units of numeric fascination.

Indescribable, the feel of power held.
Waiting for the day the strength
would weld itself into a private stock
of immortality. So few against
the roaring hordes of savage inundation.
Unknown, the primal message was received
by those who thought themselves too high
to grieve.

A killing spree of weapons too long honed.
Atomic fissures cutting to the bone
of earthen soul created to defend
the innocence that once had loved so well.
And yet She couldn't mend
their deep, unconscious attitudes.
Within the core, a lightning flash.
Mountains rumbled, cities crashed.

Mass marketing had struck the only
place of peace that they had left.
The hearth of home, for too long hidden.
Fires burned - the chemical explosions
were much too strong to be denied inside.
Weapons blasted - never as precisely
honed as truth. As youth, for too long
bidden to obey, became the points
of danger that remained.

The leaders ran and hid within
the spacious caves they had prepared
for just this kind of day - usurped by hordes
of people that denied the boards of power.
Institutions fell into the government's death knell.
Too late to pray for peace instead of war.
Democracy fell deep within the pit
of greed's disease.

A fearsome swell, and from the well
of collectivity, emotions once denied
became the sanction that abided
over all they said and did. As their
valley of grief was indemnified -
thought-forms turned into the will to die.
Confessed ideals turned into the lies
they told themselves. Loneliness
that echoed in their prefab halls
that nurtured emptiness.

Wealth the one and only focus.
Macabre dance of thieving locusts.
Leeching life from everything they touched.
The earth had finally had enough.
Within the setting sun, She watched
the sons of men succumb to history...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .