A potpourri of darkness and light.
Held in a collage of images.
Happy faces holding so much
sadness in their eyes.
Family, friends and enemies.
Looking back, there's too much
there to tell. The secret fears
abandoned all too soon.
History is personal, no matter
what the histories foretell.
Experienced in technicolor tears.
No matter all the mess involved,
we hold it very dear to us inside.
uproar from the clowns
could never seem to calm it down.
The screaming made them seem
estranged, deranged. Each tender
moment quietly absorbed within
the rest. As if some higher power
gathered data on a test that had no end.
While further down, around the bend,
no saving grace remained. The hen
within the chicken house lay dead.
Neck broken in man's token
of their gross insanity. The blame
and loss lay over every head.
on a star, we feel
a newborn's curiosity.
In pain of growth
conceived of apathy.
Feel it in the falling rain.
And there, within the pain
that seems too deep to e'er remain
a part of you. Perhaps then,
you will finally feel the real.
In this mixture of emotions
that reroutes another tide
tide of life in you...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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