No Man's Land

No man can be a hero to me now.
I've lost the faith in all their many vows.
Friend or lover, husband, father, leader.
No matter any mask they choose to wear.

Prince Charming lost his charger long ago.
The desert storm was lost within the snow.
Viet Nam still flows in poisoned veins.
And now, of course, Iraq remains the same.

Imprisoning so many in the fractures
of the backers with the money in their hands.
Abandoned by them all, we still go on.
Praying for the day of love's return.

But if and when the moment comes
we find an alteration hidden deep
within their eyes. As if the freedom
of the skies no longer lingered there.

The Twin Towers are still falling
in our minds. Extraordinary courage
masks the fear we try to leave behind.
While everything is changing for the worse.

The positives have all been spent.
The charges are too great to be endured.
One day at a time doesn't carry us through.
One moment, divine, is too long overdue.

Do politicians sleep at night, when
all the lights are off...? With demons
running naked in the halls. Painting
more graffiti on the walls.

The hordes are moving restlessly.
Back alleys have been made obscene.
Stalking all our dreams, the serpents rise.
Phallic symbols bent in their demise.

Trust has withered. Must we cry...?
Silent then, the wish that we might die.
Streaming round the bends inside
our marbled veins of deep humiliation.

Needing one another, while depleting
contacts made. Disassociation masked
by all their many trades. Here amid
the market of these patriarchal days.

Victims crying victory as victors intervene.
Sandstorms blowing cruelly through the seams.
Chemical persuasion starting yet another
great invasion - unredeemed.

Yet stars still stream through endless dreams
of dusky indigo. The dark skies unentitled
due to payments not received within our
current currency.

And so we dream. But even there, it seems
we've been invaded. Too close to home.
Radios and televisions. Then computer screens
that stream a different kind of radiation.

The water infested at industry's whim.
No wonder the future is growing so dim.
Yet still, they speak in win and lose equations.
Only balanced in their blind negotiations.

Ground Zero tells the tale so well.
Images of souls that died within the hell
their markets had created. The white
infested by the black and red.

And so, no man can be a hero now.
I've lost the faith in all their many vows.
Friend or lover, husband, father, brother.
No matter any mask they choose to wear.

That's where it's at, for I can't seem
to turn back time - neither can they...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .