Like talons gripping deep beneath the skin.
Carried over treachery beginning deep within.
Observing the delivery of pain.

Unable to control just where you go.
Gliding on the currents of a flow
that holds its strength within a molten glow.

Lost within an aftershock.
Numbered by an ancient intellect.
Amid the horde, to know thyself a speck.

The meaning's gone.
It won't be long.
Death is a song.

It sings you softly back to sleep.
From airy heights, you're diving deep.
Back into the things you cannot keep...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .