Apocryphal

He fires misplaced anger over lines -
these electronic lines, like human vines.
His prejudicial poison all denied.
Projecting blame, he rides
a high that brings no healing.
Emotions moving right along
into the other pawns.
It's like a plague.
The way he plays
with wounding words
to get his way.
Like a mean little boy
who somehow enjoys
setting fire to flies
just to watch
as they suffer and die.
And then he smiles
over miles of rejection.
Denying all the pain
of his projection.
Pretense fighting for the might
to frighten someone else.
Laughing as he takes the pulse
of agitation moving out and on.
Engaged in loops
that program scoops
of information running from
a mind that bears no meaning.
Over those electric lines
where human beings hang
like ripened fruit upon the vines.
He likes to make them rise into the fall.
As the loops wind back into themselves.
Destroying hope within the scope
of all the anger that he stokes.
Waiting for the light
of loving right
that never comes...

? Michaelette ?

4/30/2006
Copyright© 2006 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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