it out of the darkness inside.
A light much too bright to reveal.
Sealing it within the great demands of everyday.
Promising, at night, that it might stay
till morning's light. Condemning it
within the light of day.
is fickle, don't you see...?
It brags about the murder of the fantasy
that dreams still hold as real.
And still, we feel partitioned blasts
of dire emotions cast into the wind.
As if some part of us would never end.
so we bleed the darkness caught inside
of every living ray of light. In scenes so bright,
we never let them go. Reality caught withering
within their awesome glow. Until we finally
come to know each death as living breath.
Listen now. The spirits tell us so...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .