We seek to do what’s best -
but best for who, and why, and what?
There are so many versions
of the right and wrong of life in time,
that rise within confusion of
an arbitrary intellect that seeks
no more than just to stand alone
in time and space, so distantly remote
from the true feeling of reality.

We are pulled one way
and then another;
heartstrings pulsing out of beat,
sweating even through a winter storm.
To be or not to be,
and above all, to be what or who...?

And so we drive ourselves insane,
just past the brink of definition,
looking for an answer that remains
as illusive as the spirit
that first frames the many questions
we are meant to find an answer to.

How long shall we claim
that all blame must lie
within a childhood
we never really came to know
at all?

While those in power pull our strings,
oft’ until we’re lost in their remembering
of how the world used to work
back in those days
when all seemed quite complete,
in some extraordinary carefree way;
when an other took the basic tasks
of life and love upon themselves,
and shared them - lovingly, completely -
with each of us, life’s living prodigy.

These memories repeat themselves,
adding yet another life into their repertoire
of childhood happiness
that really never quite existed
here within it all;
for understanding must be sought
to balance all the powers of the dawn.

How long shall we claim
that all future must lie
within a childhood
we never really knew?

For if your memory is true,
it tells you too
of all the pain that life in form
has somehow brought to bear on all of us,
even when our hearts were incubating.
Yet have we ever, in our living memory
truly known what freedom is;
or felt it, like a bird in flight must feel...?

Alone and centered, within life itself,
not needing any else to satisfy a need;
for one flight of freedom sings itself
into a state of utter being
that lies above, beyond, below,
the slow, unaltered, never changing,
unconscious states of childhood.

While reaching, we must then encounter
the nemesis of each extreme,
when power and control begin
to bleed their way through everything we are
Even though, within this sense of power
a rude and rudimentary feel
of powerlessness must then abide
and come to life unasked.

For dates and space and time and hours
somehow creep into our minds,
using us the way we used to think
that we used them -
as no more than tools to expand
a hint of ultimate propriety.

This perfection that we seek
somehow defeats each great ideal -
and humanity is faltering upon a brink
where culture sinks into its roots
and sees itself at last within
the nature of the earth -
that knows of fools and foolishness
(for are we not, in truth
of Her creation...?)

How long shall we claim
that all blame must lie
within a childhood
we never really knew?
(mere hints of loving feeling
that seem to stray
so far away sometimes)

And why?
Why must it be this way?
The question that the hordes deny,
for meaning lies within the answers found;
while easy seldom can become
the repertoire of change
that leads to evolution.

Hints and aberrations -
obsequious, the revelations
that claim the truth of future
that unfolds itself in form.
Unjustified emotional explosions
rise from sources seeming inexplicable -
until we learn to feel ourselves in form.

Instinctual, the power of lust -
this base desire, and necessary too,
coming to the fore just when
we thought we’d overcome them all -
those instinctual attitudes.
And then we fall again
into that world minus love
that seems so overrated
in those days and nights of misery.

We drift into a haze of great emotion
(and not just the positive
we all too often choose to see)
and share this with the greater world
they call humanity;
rising once again to sink
into dark clouds of misery,
that seed themselves too thoroughly
into the energy of each denial.

The pressure is on,
and the pressure is building;
for the source of all we are
would have it so.
As emotions long kept secret
in forbidden crevices
are rising to the surface of us all.
Shall we rise or shall we fall
into the balanced wisdom they provide?

Or shall we simply just insist again
that all blame must lie
within a childhood of dreams
we've yet to really come to know
at all...?

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...