All That Lies Between

There have been times, when I put it
all together and it all turns out just right,
that I feel a miracle expanding into
time and space and form - born, as
surely as a newborn babe delivering
itself beyond all grace.

Just then I know I've come to play a
tiny part in everything that matters most
of all. They may seem few and far
between, these moments when we
choose to be our destiny; yet ever
does the wonder of one moment
such as this remain in us.

In aftermath, as time doth pass, there
comes a feeling of the purest emptiness.
Dry and hot, a desert opens out and lays
itself, imposingly to sight - believing its
horizons mean forever. Night descends,
and particles of sands become the icy
crystals of extremity found in the Northern
climbs.

How is it, we so oft' forget the feel of all
those in betweens? Verdant pastures,
wild flowers; hours of love made in the
afternoon. Moisture in a mist of
underlying, undulating mystery.
Ever-changing tapestries of clouds;
disheveled yet so beautiful, their
beauty fills our eyes to overflowing?

East to West, earth's living nature girders
us in living gratitude. Or so it surely ought
to be, with us. Peculiar, how these human
minds of ours seem out of whack with
all of that. Come to believe that the
comfort of security ceases to exist
beyond those manmade walls of glass and
steel and stone and brick. Receiving one
another only vagrantly, most times.

Bound by all the many groundless rules,
established by the unknown entity they
name society. There are rebels, this is
true; and now and then they tend to bring
a certain excitation back to life. Too often
though, this type, this mode that starts out as
excitement, turns to violence within a total
lack of all control.

Neither ever will suffice; controlled nor the
controllers. 'Tis like the icy sands of hellborn
desert nights; arising in a storm each time we
reach and find the dawn too far away to carry
on. Forgetting that we have the power of heat
within ourselves; and too, the feel of ecstasy
that tempering can bring. The sweat, the threat,
the thrill of just surrendering to wonder.

Desert storms turn into icy crystals in the dark;
red to white, the synthesis is still redeemable.
If we don't forget the rosy glows
of tender-hearted love
that lie between...

? Michaelette ?

11/1/2001
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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