Unable to advance within this
of electronically illuminated darkness,
where depth can never quite be reached,
or heart uncovered as divinity.
The hours here are powered
by an emptiness that bleeds
all nourishment away from soul.
Just before the silent call,
when the many machinations
of the mind begin to take their fall;
and known reality begins to shatter
into tiny bits and pieces, until
we fear we'll never find the ones
that matter most of all again in life.
But then, in that one moment
when our stark dependency
must take its leave, we find
a path that leads right back
into this flesh of creativity;
where words are made to play
in realms beyond all reprimands
and tongues instill each syllable
within the deepest depth of meaning.
Ah, for the days when, pen
was all we needed to believe
our words would still live on,
and paper found itself a rare
and oh, so precious gem;
set against a never-ending
speech of living words - that rarely
comes to utter the emotion
of it all in current times.
When loviingly, a touch of
soul to soul
expanded into everything with just
a gentle prayer of hands
that dared to hold each other;
at once, we knew, beyond all doubt
that fields of honesty had opened out,
running faster than the streams
that rush through dream's eternity.
And so we change - we know
learn once again to trust our intuition.
Just here, where soul insists on incarnation
as this electronically illuminated darkness
returns again to send these thoughts
through a growing web
of glowing harmony . . .
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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