Electrically dispatched o’er waves
and wires so astutely conceived
to be the shallowness of modern day
communication; enticing an awareness
of the power of the written word
within a sometimes sense
without the true sensation
of reality.

Angelically, this healing, so real,
descended in a feel of intuition; all within
the feel of an emotion – still too oft’
regarded as a momentary fantasy
(for isn’t every fantasy just this and
nothing more?) Yet oh, the more, so
sweetly does its heat rise in our flesh.

Pictures flash, across a monitor that’s
seldom monitored at all; for this modern
school we live to learn, discarded all
such stuff, that lives on still in an
ambivalence of the power of old authority;
yet ancient, and so anxiously, anticipation
builds within itself, within a growth
of sight and sound that’s not quite heard
or seen, yet clearly felt
and written in those words,
just there between the black and white,
while we find that we must ask
ourselves again, are they the truth?

Does your spirit resound through
the sight of their sound, or is it really
just a tingling of flesh, too oft’ unmet
in loving ways? And when you reach
to touch it all, does that fire-dried glass
of your own monitor, really answer
as another human touch is known to
do – within the fullness of an amplitude
that only love of all reality can bring?

Minds expand, connections seem to be
unlimited, for the information shared
is freely given. Yet is it truth or just
another fairy tale in the making? (Trailing
somehow, far behind the evolution
of all heart, this heart, one heart
that loves eternally for thee.)

And if this distance of our flesh
can be proved to be untrue,
then tell me, love,
what is it you propose to do,
to make it real?

Too many questions, still unanswered,
lie between the here and there
of our reunion in this flesh, no matter
electronically induced hallucinations,
for pure presence speaks in tones
that simply cannot be denied,
not any more...

? Michaelette ?