Mistress of Agony
by Michael Romani

Death knows no finality
At the hands of the mistress of agony
Rising up from the primordial ooze
A rite of passage you did not choose

Here we have no distanced length
Relying on stratagems of strength
There is no relevance in meekness
That only betrays tragic weakness

The jester laughs at pressing concerns
Pushing hard against life's rope burns
Sometimes even fools get their just deserts
Knowing everything can only lead to hurt

The streets hold their disappearance of worry
Where crowds move along as though in a hurry
Regret surrounds us from all around
While death comes haunting as howling hound

Her foul words of conniving degradation
Caught up in blood wringing infatuation
All her manipulations that torture and chide
Borderline defects her psychosis cannot hide

Beware the passive aggression of her game
Where with subtle nuances she casts the blame
The darkness of the soul presses into facsimile
Of the woman she might be if not the mistress of agony 

(c) July 11, 2017  Michael Romani
All Rights Reserve