They condemned their own capacity for love.
Caught within the web of lies they'd spun
through the many ages of their lives. Engraved,
the hands of time they had created
would not move. Enraged, they sank into
another mood of black despair.
Turning all their feelings into fear.

To sleep their mini-death each night.
Then wake to all the pain of wrong and right.
Seeking solace. Lashing out
at every vibrant, vagrant doubt
expressed by something that seemed alien.
Society had never been their friend.
It comprised, instead, a field where games
were played unto the death of fame.
The meaning bent and twisted in their minds.

Burning out within the blasting light.
Awe replaced by scientific wonder.
Wandering through labyrinths
of bare-boned intellect.
Concealing the appeal of otherness.
Devouring the platitudes of attitudes
that kept them in great ordered lines.
Bright shining stars were dimmed
by just the way they looked at them.
Fighting off the terror of a light
that might expose their tenderness.

Hating life but fearing death.
Juxtaposed in emptiness.
Lashing out at someone else instead.
While secretly they wished they had
the courage of the dead to just pass
over into their unknowingness.
And all the brightness just kept
leaking from their heads.

Night rebounding. Waking dreams.
A mystified remembering.
Reaching back to feel the love again...

? Michaelette ?