The Pain

The faery takes to flight yet once again,
seeking still the meaning and the worth
that only love can bring.
She wonders, just askance of heart,
what she might do to make the difference;
even as she realizes one more time
that the difference lies in more
than just herself alone.
(Oh, all that is, now hear my plea,
and let this be the very last
of their planned misery
to come to me unwarranted.)

As time and time again, she notes,
itís never been her heart thatís given in,
nor yet her will that sends
such love into a state of misery;
but rather, a blind state that grieves
for all that it has never come to be.
This, even as she sees
more clearly now than ever
that love must be entirety -
for nothing thatís divided
in itself between a paradox
can ever know of love
thatís true at all.

And so she speculates
that fate has given her a task,
to move beyond the lies
still being told.
And so she holds herself
yet one more time above
the pain that others seem to love
above all else...

? Michaelette ?

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