ENTHRALLED
The Ferris Wheel is turning, somewhere high
above - its nighttime lights seem strange to
see; twirling dervish reverie. Below it and out
across, the black of the late night water throws
its ripple noise along the colored reflections.
Enough to scare a child, I even imagine a
scream. I am of two worlds : do I stay to watch
this to an end, or turn and go, to leave behind
a world on the precipice of a gulf it doesn't itself
know? Not sure of either sanction I pray some
lord of sanitation to clear for me this open way.
Since I was nine, everything has been a lie and
everyone has lied to me and every thing was false
and rotten at the core. This is not a world of
meaningful things and not a one among us is ever
free. We are sick and prideful souls, roaming like
lions for our own personal lamb to slay. The Ferris
Wheel, still turning high above, twirls its magnificent
and awkward way in silence - except again for
all those midnight sceams I hear.
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