Coming Out

Afraid of his own power
as he constantly submitted
to the blind demands of time
that’s never really come to know
itself in form at all.
He drifted in a dream
of others making.

Away he ran then, constantly,
abasing life that he might be
just what the others
thought he ought to be;
consistently deferring to demands
that made no sense
within the greater scheme of things,
and yet commanding
his attention nonetheless.

While tension built within him,
straining his preponderance
of peace and of propriety;
and he began to fight society
unconsciously, within his many
moods and attitudes,
instigating insurrection
with every tone that lay behind
the voice he’d trained so well.

Waves of emotion started to swell,
moving ever closer the shore.
Could the land withstand this strength
of oceanic movement?
As the spirit of the earth began
to rise in tides that seemed to be
so inaccessible to their demeanor,
that visions swam behind his eyes
inciting only more to come to be.

Attraction, creativity,
and the seeds of all destruction,
lay equally within the core;
and all that he abhorred the most
somehow became the center of it all -
rising, fading, shadowing,
his every mood and move.

The walls of blind belief were being shattered
while all that mattered most to him
seemed suddenly a sham.
When once again he ran into a wall,
ivy-veined with fear and pain,
recorded in a past that left its scars
deep within the wells and walls of flesh.

He wondered when he closed his eyes at night
what visions of the day would turn and sway,
returned to him as if they’d never
seen a sense of clarity at all;
rising once again as if within another realm,
encompassing a purity of atmosphere,
unhindered and unhampered
by the grossness of society at large.

When finally, the night arose in indigo,
within a glow of healing tone,
that spoke to him in hues of violet light -
deepening, somehow, his soul
into the very center of each cell,
where crystal glory opened unto him.
For truly here – beyond the definition of all sin,
pure beauty found an inspiration,
speaking then in words of loving hues.

They whispered that
he’d more than paid his dues
and might come out to play
yet once again . . .

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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