Of Life

In life, his eyes had never worked quite in
the way that others thought they should.
He would see just vague and blurry outlines
upon a moving sea of constant waves of color -
fascinating, scintillating - as if the aura,
soul of souls, of everything would reach
into his being through those eyes – oh, eyes
of gentle understanding, unbeholding to the
view of any other.

As years went on, he learned of all the things
and people that circled him this way, and some
part of him was glad for all the time he had
to spend in endless reverie, while another
portion first regretted, then resented, the way
that life in other forms would simply
pass him by, all too oft’ within a feel of sorry
misery. Yet he went on, and found what joy
of love and happiness he could, enclosed
in circles of familiarity.

Until the circle, once so full of love and
caring nurturance, was bent and broken,
shattered by the death of one who’d always
loved him most of all; and this, her death,
he simply could not bear. It wasn’t really
very far at all, past love’s pure passing,
that he followed after her, rising quite beyond
the time and space that they’d lived in. And
just there, he finally saw it all in utter clarity.

For now his soul, unbound and unimprisoned,
saw it all, and this, his soul, was he. He lingered
even still just at the border where the veil grows
sheer – childlike wonder keeping him enthralled
in every sight; crossing back and forth between
two realms; trying to communicate to those he
loved and left behind – the wondrous round of
utter change a death that even now lives on
can bring.

Miraculous and unexpected – he writes these
words somehow through me; that this truth
of life that he now sees, becomes complete.
Yet still, he never really learned
to live...

? Michaelette ?

5/4/2001
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...