Left Over

Home, the only mode of comfort known
for its contingencies of ease.
Mother-love amid the pain's disease.
Left before the right finds its increase.

And so, tonight, we squander boundaries.
Sirens whisper, teasing all our senses.
While soul withholds that great, unseemly
census. Their numbers drifting back into
the realm of make-believe. Discovering
the leak within the sieve.

Seizing on a point of light.
Grieving ever deeper, there inside.
Unraveling the skeins of their deceit.
Forming in the mists' reality.
Forcing us back to our own relief.

A lightning flash within a field of wonder.
Unencumbered by the pestilence.
Reaching through the shields to dance,
just one more time again.

To seek and then to find the feel
of home within their time so unrevealed.
Pointing toward another winsome glow.
Left over from an abstract ray of light,
congealing in the darkness,
burning bright...

? Michaelette ?

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