exposure to explosive
moods that ease into their minds.
Living out the anger on the run.
Ignoring all the signs, they broke
another holy seal. In infamy,
they seek a place with zeal.
A fire burns eternally o'er empty,
awesome graves. Their cellars
hold the means of the depravity
they seek to hide beneath the
yellowed parchment floor.
Investigators speak through waves
of infamy, and more. They touch
the evil seized by other hands.
And gain it, as they seek to understand
insanity. Primeval waste is torn apart and
scanned by their computer scientists.
At home, night fades into red-tinted mists.
They stay awake, avoiding dreams.
The monsters dwell in every seam
of fabric in their worn society.
The daydreams come, unasked
and unbelieved. The questions in
their minds are unconceived within
their brevity of speech. With notebooks
full of empty lies, they try to move
the world by an inanimate but deadly
touch of mind. Unreleased, the facts
they dare to find. Reeking, full of horror,
as the mirror down the hall reveals
the truth. And they battle with a
chemical exposure to explosive
moods that ease into their minds...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .