mist in the mirror.
Like the man in the moon.
To look is to see, so they say.
But the visions there can carry you away.
Away from the stress and the strain
and the strife. Offering an altered life
of dreams and fantasies. Too many
to be held within your gross reality.
and choose. You learned the rules.
Go on, although your heart is breaking.
Move along as if the aching weren't really there.
And thus attain the riches that buy honor.
To seed the needy alleyways with wonder.
Gold watch clamped around the bones.
The wrist had moved on long ago
to hang the hand that held the gold.
screaming. Headlines bleeding.
Nothing is secure. The mist in the mirror
keeps on hovering too close. Who knows
what buried ghosts might yet arrive.
A particle amid the rushing mass.
They tell you that you don't have any class.
You pass the glass to someone else instead.
The dream is alive and the nightmare won't fade.
You never owned the dues you paid.
look into the mists of futures passed.
Your nose is shrunk. Your lips are withered.
A shocking shiver running at high mast.
Tossed upon a violent sea.
The make-believe was meant to be.
Run round again and look at the mist in the mirror.
The man in the moon is a circle of fear.
But to look is to see, so they say.
While the visions there have carried you away...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .