Residual

A miasma of emotion
twisting through the blind devotion
of what they think must be their family.
Knots of inspiration never known.
Grown and calcified within the bones.
Unable then, to bend a knee in prayer.
Sifting through the aftermath
of their divided sin.
Coasting into dusk too dim
to bring enlightenment.
Riding high on waves of manmade light.
Residual, the turning of the night.
To sleep but never dare to dream
of how the world could have been
if only they had let the loving in...

? Michaelette ?

7/10/2005
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .