Quality of Soul

Overwhelmingly, the quality of soul
begins to cast its magic spell
within a power of hours cast aside
(oh spirit rise, within our hour of need)
by all who sleep as if the night
were really unaware.
Yet indigo expression enters here
traveling through a distance
inexpressible at best
to reach, to touch, to test
invisible, emotional connections.

It reaches us from deep within,
connecting us to all that’s been
and more, for future finally scores a hit;
while the present moment floats
within an undulant, absorbing fantasy
of all this flesh must mean to consciousness
(oh flesh expressing ecstasy divine . . .)
within a search for the purity of awareness
that waits there, just beyond
the edge of sanity.

We speak, and oceans rise into the stormy skies
that earth herself, in her eternity of utter being
projects into the air of her composure
and breathes itself into our lives through lungs
(so intimate – each breath we choose to take).
Our eyes, at last, are open wide
to all that lies, just biding time until,
mind open wide, we drift into
the other side of lightning flashing out.

We need and thus we come to know
the white-hot heat of light too bright
to ever condescend to understanding;
as it burns into the cold of melting ice.
(Once, then twice, then thrice
Is this betrayal or deliverance . . . ?)
As the heaviness of moisture re-ascends,
forming clouds within those skies of blue.

For all that is most dense desires deeply
as it reaches for the heights of ecstasy.
(Oh deep desire, rise again in me)
And heat repeats itself in tides of oceanic depth
that speak of what we thought we’d left behind -
those endless days of springtime growth
when love became the mast and main
that seemed to sail so endlessly
into all lives in days of golden yore.

But days of yore have come to be
no more than just a string of memories
that lead us to a store of great emotion;
sparkling in the living, loving hues that cast
such shadows on the recent past,
remembering the way it used to be
(Love, oh ray of light divine
please hear our plea
and lead us back to ecstasy again)

While suspicion lurks
in all that once was learned
yet now, somehow
incapable of application
at the level of mere intellectual belief;
that spurns emotion as it tries to keep
its power sacrosanct in linear hours
while feelings weep in desperation,
clinging to a past that chose to die.
(Exhausted, oh so tired
of this mire of mind’s complexity)

And oh, unending jealousy released
speaks within demonic tones
of how alone was never meant to be
succored in an incubative fantasy
that seeks control even o’er the whole
of all that’s meant to be.
While archetypal revelation must remind
the heart, the soul, the mind
once again of its existence beyond time.
(Oh, to be, just be as one pure moment
living in this loving fantasy)

Once upon a time, we’re told
and thus a memory survives
(in tales ancient and so wise),
an embryo took shape and form
combining masculine and feminine
into a blending that, in time and mind
once dreamed itself into division.
(Realms of separation,
so in need of unity to live.)

Just then, the quality of soul
began to show itself again
(beyond all sense of ordered intellect)
in ever-growing, multi-varied hues;
bequeathing matter-in-the-making
with a tone of misty verity beheld
by mortal eyes that always shine
into a bright and ever-burning stroke
of lightning that must have its way
within a tidal wave of pure emotion
to seed the night with stars and moon
endeavoring to sing within a gentle glow
(Oh, earth, how is it that you know
e’en now, of what we need the most of all?)

Desiring this quality of soul to speak
yet left completely undefined
until we find a way to reach
our spirit speaking out in growing decibels
within a nighttime breeze now whispering
of all that love might come to bring
back again into these realms
of endless dreams that seek to be
no more than just awake . . .

? Michaelette ?

1/27/2001
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .