Philosophy of life unlived
awake, at last, within the ebony
of moonlit nights outstanding clarity of vision.
With sparkling stardust sifting through
these dreams forever coming true,
for those who dare to dream the dream
of shadowy awakening in form.
For this philosophizing writes itself
in lessons yet outnumbered by the norm,
as galaxies are made to spin
within the satisfaction of an orb;
reordering the web and weave,
obscuring views that are too shallow
and too weak to keep themselves
alive and living well.
It is a tale told in tomes
pre-written in the skies
singing through eternity
disguised as an angelic lullaby.
Swooping, blending, gliding on;
awakening a soul-struck mystery
within a sleep so deep we dream its theme
into another early morning glory.
Sun felt but not quite seen
as moon and stars drift off
to sleep their way into the day.
While another stream of purest ebony
simply crystallizes light into its being
becoming then a myriad
of living, moving hues;
not quite yet enough, but seeding form
as shapes of shadows shift -
so swiftly, dizzily adrift -
they bite in infinite delight
and are about to take to flight.
Its source is everywhere
unfolding, boldly speaking tone
into the twilit zone always awakening
believing in itself enough to speak these words
to prove the past in unsuccinct
yet blooming stretches of meandering
through fields of flowering meadows
singing softly through an intimately
satiated breeze; retrieving all the goods
from thieves that lie in wait,
needing nothing more than
times of blind imprisonment.
Overcast, above emotion,
riding o’er these plains
where utter being shows itself
as stains of shadowed glory;
sung in trills, a song of songs is born
in vocal chords of harmony outstanding
as deity takes yet another shape
and fate upon itself; to revel
in sensation and the feeling of all flesh.
Stoking then, such great desire
of cellular transaction, that multitudes
begin to clone themselves anew.
Whispering all ears
into one tone’s deliverance.
Bold and brief, yet everlasting
feast of life divine.
Oh, heat of moisture
running through these veins;
its beat repeating endlessly
to teach of one refrain
that flows right through
the heart of each of you.
As unencumbered destiny
arises in this living night of dawn
while the secrecy of all containment flowers
into a million petals folding out, so satin soft;
recounting every gain and loss of age.
And too, of future ages left yet unresolved.
Clouds bow in adoration,
weeping liquid life aloud
when spherically, a beam of light
refracts itself and bends;
blending streaming soul’s delight
through all our lives; inherently
commanding will to aid us in this quest
of magic that no longer rests in victory’s defeat.
Completing the beginning of all things.
Destroying too, within
the very sensitivity of its creation.
Genderless, it is the most
androgynous of wholes
telling tales never told before,
of love that reaches into core;
where heat belies all ice
in ever-streaming waves of empathy
that bleed, time and again,
through veins and arteries
of great philosophies that reach
and teach about salvation.
Lying in a swell that dwells
beyond all martyred incarnation;
within a truth that cannot
be denied – the truth of form.
Are those buildings beehives
of our lives . . . ?
no more than homes of productivity,
behind those gleaming windows
that have yet to learn of opening
to currents of pure nature’s clarity of air.
E’en now, as vast proclivity recedes,
leaving empty sky to speak the words
of the pieces of this life still left unlived.
Traveling through distances
so vast they seem surreal
congealing here and there and everywhere;
as particles of time stream through the tone
of eternal utterance that hears itself as lone.
Theosophical, it dares to
know a little more
about each graven image of imagination’s deity,
mesmerized within a fantasy of blind enchantment.
Taking hold of cells that have
too long been left alone;
too lost to find their way
back home to heart.
Melting in the mines of mind
too brightly lit to see;
beyond the shadows casting just themselves
around and through each increment, and too
within predicaments that catch
within each breath of stress -
as all that was agreed upon
explodes and breaks the seeming might
of intrauterine obesity.
While underground, a cauldron
of emotion boils wildly;
with the secret of its need.
As feelings bleed themselves
aloud in moans and groans
that chant demonically, even as
chaotic screams are built to fill the gaps
of the unreasoning of clarity
where every tunneled vision dwells -
growing into swells of pure insanity
that seems to be the sane and
well-behaved approach of childish adultery.
And then releasing relaxation’s flow
in glowing symmetry, as all that breathes
receives itself again in every motion
of a life that dares to take
just what it needs,
until it truly needs no more.
Oh, streaming symphonies of
come now in witness of this earthly majesty
that takes the plunge and seeks your mystery again,
in Dionysan fantasies that put
the sense of all sensation
back into a sensuous groove
of this instinctual approval.
As the living breath
of all experience engulfs it all;
touching what we dared not feel before.
Yet now, within this dawning hour,
as the light of blue and airy skies
streaks through ebony’s delight,
the pleasure of all happiness takes flight.
For love was here, yet
disappeared from mortal sight
in eyes that opened much too wide
in shock of an electrically imbibed alarm
that never really needed anything at all.
Oh, ever-opening door of star’s
shine us into realms beholding you
in all that we have ever touched
yet never truly felt before.
Yet touching thus, we now can feel
your true reality; as home
rebounds within a sound -
one tone of deep significance that feels
this hair, like grass, forever growing longer
within an orb of cyclic functioning.
The strains are moving swifter
than they ever have before
as eyes take in the site of growing soul.
Be bold, oh spirit, write yourself
into the book of life in form,
evolving within revolutions;
unraveling a tale that speaks
of the delight of entropy.
Closing every opening
that fails the worn-out tales
of the validity of all enclosures;
where flashing lights blink in and out
in a continuum of spectered colors.
It matters not where we might
we know each other here beyond reproach;
living through these dusty motes
of moving, mattered air; floating,
touching close, within an ambiance
of atmosphere - where all we say
is breathed again by yet another;
and all we feel must enter
in to play another string.
While blending, somehow sing a tune,
that plays this chaos into harmony again.
Oh, freshest breath of air,
invisibly enticing lungs to motion,
behold yourself once more in breath of form;
as radio waves keep playing through our brains
inducing thoughts we think to be our own.
And days and nights become one pure,
unending stream of melody arriving.
While choirs of voices sing to life
the endlessness of meaning in their tone
when one alone rings out above
the silence of all multitudes.
We seek and reach to find
an all-encompassing rekindling of heart,
when once again we start to know the feel
of love that streams through compromise unaided.
Bravely, see how straight and strong it stands,
in a nonsense song of childlike innocence,
uttering the wishes of the source of all of life.
Yet knowing now just how to bring
this sense of strife into one end that must
become again a new beginning of it all.
In the deep of sleep, unending
stream in uninvited dreams of living energy.
Entering seclusion and negating privacy
by decree of soul and its holistically enhancing
synchronicity that dances endlessly -
in atoms spinning in a void of sensitivity -
in a pushing, pulling, tearing, wearing
battle of the will of mind and flesh.
As instinctively, we seek
to intermesh all that we are.
Birds sing sweetly without
bringing all the world awake
into a state of pure perplexity
unuttering all words of yesterday’s complexity,
within a tingling feel of melting snow
with spring just now beginning to arise
in fields that soul surmises
as its future of eternal destiny.
The sun is coming up
I hear it in the voices
of the birds even before
its light touched gently
on the indigo of all horizons.
And a sense of grand rebellion ripens,
knowingly within this secret
whispering of sight
flying through the blindness of this day
sun turning purely golden
in its ripening of dawn.
Recanting now a pull of gravity
that we must reach and greet night’s nemesis;
pulling us towards caves where creatures
from the deep of seas’ arrival dwell;
waves rising as they quell the heat
of ever-streaming forms
of structured incandescence,
that dance so endlessly
within each stream
of heated passion daring
to reveal itself to form.
The sight of sound arising
from pools of tonic reverence;
a multitude of colors' undulating motion,
in an indolence forever moving out
from inner reaches streaming endlessly -
red to orange to greens of spring,
into rose-tinted hints of satin soft deliverance;
turning blue in skies of distant imagery
deeper there, where royalty still dreams;
and a yellow cast of peaceful understanding
undertakes the greatest task of all;
while white remains atop to block
the indigo from darkening our sight;
as silver flows into mercurial delight
then blends the ultraviolet in,
purpling the senses of a lilac-scented night.
And then the fall transmutes
eternity in cyclic form of sight,
resolving every taste of innocence
descending hence to reach
the center of the blessing of it all.
Just when the wars of intellect
begin waver in this paradox,
that brings all creatures
to their knees in altered replication.
Where rivers run into
pure currents of an atmoshpere
composed into a stillness
oft’ forbidden by a look;
disdaining all reflection as it takes the plea
for individuality and seeks chaotic seeds
in an explosive form that hopes to once
defeat the deeper meaning we must seek.
Here utterance becomes
a task too difficult for truth,
until the youth of ages
sings itself awake again
as waves of anger cast a charcoal sketch.
One match – oh, burning innocence,
what will you come to now . . . ?
Within this force of the belief
that only black and white exist,
as darkness seeks the mystery
of up and coming light.
Just as the night produces
shadows playing through its day
when drunken animosity
will find the need to sleep
overriding every pure emotion.
Orpheus, oh Orpheus,
arouse your magic lyre,
fingering your movement
to the mystery of dreams.
Sing your golden strings
of harmony to life yet once again.
Touch these hearts, reopening.
Communicate your intimate relief
of every ending breathed
in blends of harmony’s beginning.
Galloping through streaming
miens of flying horses’ hoofs,
for Pegasus is calling all
the unicorns back to the earth again.
While Hermes comes to know
of what dear Iris comes to tell -
gently, as her femininity
at last finds breath to speak.
In a philosophy of flesh
responding to another touch;
as gently, senses dense
with secrecy invade the soul.
Peaking curiosity again, and then again
in phrases of pure questions yet unformed.
Look! the scent of oceans travels distantly
through earthen realms where faeries
choose to live within the mists
of what we’ve yet to quite conceive;
yet longing to be joined again in love.
Velveteen, the whispering
of daemons that refuse
to sing aloud the muses
of our femininity,
yet still they speak
in glowing words that flow
so liquidly across the white
of pages once left blank
just as another song of poetry
begins to write itself alive.
Here history relieves itself
within a fluid feeling tone
ensconcing even mind
in the immensity of all emotion.
Oh angels, lend your wings
to flight tonight;
then break your fast
within this ever dawning light
for eternity awaits us,
always here and everywhere;
infinitely flowing through
the beauty of all composition
in shifting, ever-changing
cells that must remain
forever formed in dwellings
of this earth's reality.
Yet still we feel, so much
akin to savages
drifting in a primal urge of unity
(that needs so much to just dissolve itself);
channeling occurrences of changing attitudes
in felt and ever-feeling modes of intuition reaching
for the words to once again relate us to it all;
absorbing and decreasing streams
rejected in ages past,
through masses that we call humanity.
Yet now the universe itself
demands our understanding
of all that’s been left lying underground.
And life astounds itself again
within the reach of spirit seeking
more than mind has found.
Unbound, we drift through
arches of infinity
discovering a never ending multitude of wisdom
singing through a wind that knows no air.
It stares through all excuses to reveal itself again,
rending veils once thought sacrosanct,
blowing threads of misty lullabies into our eyes.
This time without unknowing sleep
to compromise our consciousness;
for we live within a waking dream of life expanding
invisibly into the mists where linear cannot subsist
without the breadth of circularity.
Centered, the circumference
and we come to know what (at first glance), seems to be
no more than just the alienation of all other galaxies.
Hooded now, a density of reverence arrives
just as we open up our eyes to backward glances,
to find the waters warm and wet again,
enticing sprites to dance through our delight;
feeling once again the splendid gaiety
that only open-hearted innocence can bring.
And so we sail away,
anchoring ourselves in moving tides;
while beneath the skin the velvet waves
of blues will have their way through days
of undeniable, and somehow verifiable compulsion.
Coasters sketched in etches of a silver-tinted foam,
moving through the backdrop of eternal ebony,
free at last to be themselves
and nothing more than that.
Oh dryads of dark forests’
tell us now of trees and all
the reasons fathomed in their reaching
for unending heights in spreading roots;
even as their leaves and needles
fall into the earth in infinite procession.
melting into never-ending roots
to long and swaying grass;
hinting in mirages born of spacious,
flowered meadows gleaming there,
within the moonlight streaming
gold in glory of reflective attitudes.
As light comes once again to play
within the endless space of ebony;
where newborn stars will bring
a voice we’ve never heard before.
Words surging from the matrix
of a mind in its ascent; descending
in a flow through senses of all boundaries;
to find expression in a turn
of phrased philosophy.
As the graves of grace
that birth the living dead reopen,
trusting heights so deeply riven
in the flesh of earthen form
that stormclouds cease to boil
and broil that they may hear this tale
of a sense of life that’s still
held dear within modernity.
Wires metalically enhancing
ever feel of unity; inducing
trance-like states of ecstasy
just reaching for the planes of all experience
but not quite there.
White heads nod in understanding
in touch with netherworlds
where the truth of lovers dwell.
Removed within their presence,
they redeem us - reckoning
the beckoning of spirit-life as their continuance.
For they have come to feel the truth
of the reality that youngsters only can imagine;
and see beyond those
structured forms of right and wrong'
strong in their conviction
of life’s uttered spontaneity.
Saying, oft’ in silence,
exactly what is on their mind,
no longer minding the reverberations
of a culture or society
or creed’s incredulous belief,
as they bleed internally
into eternal reaches of all soul.
Yet the feel of family seeks
nothing more than to precede
the sense of soul and individual reciprocation;
for pregnant woman empathize too much -
mothering the old and young alike -
lost within a womb that holds all sense of future
in an infinite variety of seeds that grow within
her wet and warm and darkened storms
bringing rainbows back to life again.
And hand in hand, we walk
now, you and I
the masculine and feminine in sync
blinking back the mists of insignificance,
as unerring sight expands within a past
that weeps the endlessness of vast horizons.
Coming closer, closer to our origin of home
than we have ever been before.
We turn, another bend upon
and so we meet again, as lovers always do
in spirited example of the truth of all existence.
As whole to whole, we greet each other endlessly
and turn again, as one
to take in hand the landscaped majesty
of this eternity of immortally
that we have built into into ourselves . .
never forgetting this form that imbues
all sacristy within these hues of flesh . . .
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .