Sweet sparrows abide and
within a multiplicity of flight and lightning trills;
impressing everything they are within
a harmony of tone that sings itself alive –
creating and then recreating every bliss
of nature and of natural commission.
So strange it seems, yet
still, this focused
view of human intellect, that must dissect
pure moments of divinity in motion; yet still,
we feel beyond all will or mental stance,
these seeds of immortality that blossom out
into the evermore; rarely daring though, to
put emotion into words at all, and so it comes,
so undilutedly condensed behind the tones
that flow and fill the emptiness we know as
time and space.
I watched a poplar tree
expiring this spring,
just when its newborn leaves began awakening;
and realized it was implanted in between
two homes where people feuded endlessly,
but naming themselves right and good, while
their neighboring other proved themselves again
to be no more than wrong. In innocence, a youthful
tree of great unfolding mystery, just budding with
new leaves of spring, was destroyed upon the alter of
their egos and beliefs; and yet each held and holds
themselves within a deep regard, even now, as if
their wrath could not affect the greater world
surrounding, all they were and came to be.
Sad, so sad, this loss
of leaves to speak the truth
of all reality, each time the ceaseless breeze
would warm into a spring of summers, loving
life in every form and shape. And so I seek
these little, loving sparrows once again, who
make their home into a loving tone of harmony;
so close, so close, to this one heart of mine...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .