She Wasn't There

It wasn't her.
They closed the casket.
But she wasn't there.
Interred within
the muddy ground.
A cold and windblown
rain was pouring down.
Reality hit
in a blossoming fit.
Checked by a cold,
sodden mess.
Cold and bleak
and yet too all aware.
And I felt her, subtle,
floating in the air.
Disturbing dissonance
of endless ire.
Seeking to control
the many minds
she didn't know,
that came to play
beside her grave that day.
Without respect for her.
She was flying free in spirit.
Swaying moods
but not the attitudes
that lay in crude
and angry social forms.
Inside of them, the storm
was living on.
Motivation growing.
Planting seeds within
their floating, toxic need.
One last try.
Par excellence.
Emotional endurance.
The comfort of such love.
The interference.
For the words were never spoken.
Even as their hearts were broken.
They closed the casket.
But she wasn't there...

? Michaelette ?

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