The Abattoir

Escaping from the abattoir.
To reach into and through the core.
A rise of fading glory poured out from his fingertips.
The gore was sluiced away, unwashed.
The more he moved, the more he lost.
In impotence, he tossed and turned to day.
Lost memories, unspoken, had their way.
As fear began its awful, awesome play.
She found him there, too lost to know.
In darkened light, his aura glowed.
Seeking silence, finding noise.
As if he'd ever really had a choice.
The dark and the light were at war in his soul.
Once obsessed with visions of the whole.
But he couldn't sense her presence there.
Heart torn out, his bones laid bare.
Like building blocks, creations torn to shreds.
No lover left to keep him in his bed.
Not quite for him nor against him.
Neither out there, nor within.
Rather, lost within a void of no return.
Where every birth must seek its death
as opposites are intermeshed.
And all his many variations
dissipated into nothingness.
Sought and found.
No up. No down.
A center with no known circumference.
Now praying for an interruption.
Purposeless, without criterion.
No way back to the life he once had known.
He failed escape from that, his eerie twilit zone.
Fully human. Terrorized.
As light shot through the darkened skies.
And flesh begin to tingle, all unwanted.
One last rising in the temple, now corrupted.
Abandoned in the soil not of his soul.
Castrated by his fear of the unknown.
Escaping from the abattoir.
Into a grave, too deep rise again...

? Michaelette ?

11/23/2005
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .