In between the parent and
we survive and seek to grow into
an individual. Yet even in our quest
for this, a need arises, so consistently
that we must question the validity
of just what it is we truly seek.
And oh, the innocence of every
that is the first. Its power is immense,
in ways that are invisibly complete for
just an instant of eternity. And so
we seek another touch, a first perhaps,
to bring us there again, just there,
where every ending must begin anew.
How quickly, though, the first
itself into the second and the third. While
the very powers of the mind that seem to
be so valuable when out there in the world,
double back and cause us this, the greatest
pain that we have ever felt or thought could
come to be. For love is lost somehow, within
the very terms of multiplicity that grow
within the multi of these minds, over time
and through the space and distance
of all measurement.
While love itself, still lies
immeasurable, flowing silently in rhythm and
in sometimes rhyme; blending more and more
in harmony; invisibly in notes of voices singing
out in sweet release of song. Love moves forever
in between supposed individualities. This love
that makes all worlds open out at its command,
revealing mysteries of realms so long left in
a shadow of unknowns.
For here within, we are each
a parent yet a
child ever growing; and we live beyond
the gendered opposition of the wars
of all division and all paradox. Fascination,
fantasy; imagination opening out - just at
the core, the center of each particle of flesh
as undigested visions of the quest for all
substantiation reach their peak – for now we
reach to touch a seeming other; finding then,
just at the core, that other was our very own
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...