He moves in a haze of a maze
Stumbling again on his own feet. Catching
the wall within a slip of sweat soaked hands.
He looks, and still the mirror just stares back
at him in arbitrary silence. No matter
where he goes or miles traveled,
that's all that he has left - his
His bloodshot eyes begin to
storm of tears into reality, as pain unleashed
begins to thunder, there inside him now. How
intimately, all his alter images are speaking
in his head. Explosions of sound that only
he can hear. Feelings too painful to
ever endure. His eyes look back, yet
all that he can see is yet another cycle
of unending misery still building there.
Too many circuits have been
the years. He cannot find the essence that
he always held so dear. In deserting her,
he did not know that he would lose himself.
Move, he must keep moving on; playing all
the roles the world expects. Leaden feet
become an echoed beat that slams into
the back of his inverted eyes. He tries to
lift his arm to dry his eyes, but it refuses
him - just like the many women in his life
had come to do.
He speaks, but no one ever
Internally, the wisdom of his many seasons
tries again to rise. No! Again he shouts, as if
aloud, but nobody responds (they never had).
The walls that he constructed in defense
have turned into a dungeon of imprisonment.
There is nothing left for him do, but keep on
moving on within the utter emptiness he'd
come to feel. If only he could hear her voice
again. Or once more seek the many stars
alight within her eyes. And oh, for just
another touch of that sweet flesh divine.
The lips, the tongue - the magic spun...
he moans, this time aloud, but no one
cares enough to notice even this.
He tries to think, but nothing
comes - the
cogs have remained frozen for too long.
Even his imagination has deserted him.
He cannot sleep, nor dream, nor wake.
It is as if he were suspended just outside
the atmosphere of real. Heart beating
all too rapidly within his inner ear. He
smothers all the words that try to lead
him to an early death again, jarring himself
forcefully from all the many years of that
great taint. Some great and unknown
magic warped his soul, as if a spell or
curse had once been cast on him in
youthful days of yore.
The holidays were here, but
nothing to be thankful for at all. For a
little while, he'd floated on the blame that
he so desperately had placed upon her.
He couldn't find the energy for even that
one camouflage these days. Something
deep and too mysterious would stir itself
within his heart each time he tried to once
again deny the part he'd played in all that
pain, incited and induced by only him.
It was here self-image crumbled
For no matter all the countless times it
beat, his heart would still insist on that
great love he felt for her, refusing every
alteration; even as he pleaded for his
life. How would he ever find a meaning
in his life without her there to share it?
The many choices he had made -
he saw them now as no more than
a very grand delusion, as (ever so
slowly, this time around), each memory
that he'd accrued in life arose again.
Avoidance failed him them,
and all the
memories of that last day with her begin
to rise again in force. Cheeks flaming,
all the shame advanced again. While all
the many lies he'd told, rebounded like an
echo in an endless well inside of him.
Where once he'd found a meaning, now
the meaningless took hold. The rote
commands he followed couldn't satisfy
his heart or soul. He wished again for
that old sense of pure unknowingness;
yet came to find the backward path
he'd chosen simply disappeared somehow.
And so he stumbled on, exhaustion
pulling him yet further down. Yet still,
he moved - squared circles in that maze
without an exit. Corners turning - distance
lost within an ever present feel of hope
gone wrong. How could he e'er go on
without the healing that he'd found
within her touch? One seed, so long ago
implanted then began to grow.
This healing, he had once believed
that he contained it in himself.
A new sense of confusion began
scattering the spell. Cracks appeared
within once solid imaging of mirrors.
Perhaps his destiny was beckoning...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...