Gripping

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 ?

7/04/2005
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .