fission. A feeling inside.
Moving through channels
hand carved into strange variations.
He loved her, he blamed her.
He split the extremes.
The explosions created had
splintered their dreams.
He rejoiced in release.
Then he blamed her again.
The damage he'd done never
could make amends in relation.
Relativity broken, he chanted a prayer.
Invisible, he'd spun his lair.
The rage exploded just when she escaped.
Then he wrote of his love as he
blamed her again with his hate.
He never gave up on his games.
Every win of his became a loss of love.
While ever he sought more control.
The tale has been told before,
but never quite like this.
Drink a pint, reach for cold.
The icy highs were bright
and bold within him.
Such anger has a way of growing old.
He kept it alive by his tears, never cried.
Controlled by him, the fission never ends...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .