Broken Dreams

Bottled up emotion; just like an old, fine wine,
finds the heat too desperately repeating in
the tombs and tomes of time. Separate,
the aggregration; go buy another bottle
when the first comes to explode. Perhaps
one made of plastic better suits this day
and age; for all the shattered pieces that
imploded, in that gathering into another heated,
sandy storm - biting particles of raw emotion
gnawing at the walls of his enclosure -
eating at those cells of living flesh
that come to feel no more than painful
interludes of so much more and less than
can be moved by will alone.

He wished no more than someone come
to save him from himself; and yet the
night proved silently complete within the
nightmare that he dreamt himself to be
(within a sense of total wakefulness).
The lens of time lay scratched and broken
at his feet. Languidly, still caught within
another's broken dreams, he told himself
that everything would be all right; for he'd
adhered to all the grueling schedules and
born the norms that his society prescribed
for everything they saw as different and
labeled then, as ill and prohibition.

If only once, he'd chosen to look down and
to the left - he would have spied that prismed
light, just as an errant beam of sun was shot
through by an angle of the moon; catching
starlight in its ray - supremely altering
the lens of time within a momentary chance
of happenstance; when inner ears begin
to hear the singing voices of pure air
and winds arise and fall, and harmonize
the atmosphere of earth itself.

A puzzled look spread o'er his face, just as
this bright anomaly raced fast across the lines
of thought he'd based his life upon; splitting
everything he knew in two; then splintering
the two into an endless bed of sparkling dew,
scented by a heavenly stream of purest being.
He takes another hit, just as his joints begin
to ache in that unbending, never-ending pose
he's taken. The wrinkles in his face begin
to slowly turn into a crack in that - his stoically
insensitive survival.

Was it just a year ago that he had vowed to
love into forevermore with her? It seemed like
yesterday, yet too it seemed as if no more
than just another dream that dissipated in a
waking state of mind he presupposed to be
reality. Where now - those loving, sweet
sensations that he'd felt then in her arms and
heard within the voice of one who seemed
to know so many things beyond the bounded
patterns of beliefs he lived again? It was as if
another altering were taking place in time and
space and him.

Those carefree nights of lovers lying close,
so close that neither one (or then, the other)
could behold themselves as just alone, not then -
but where had all those moment drifted too?
When did those norms turn up and merely
carry him away again? Love delegated
back into the dungeons - told his only
safety still was there - away from those
clear, airy skies of blue where dragons flew
forever - longing just for him. Was he truly then,
no more than just a heralding of seeds that
science sought in the creation of another clone
of them? Was his life to be no more than just
another round of man upon a cross that wished
to save the many others from that sense of agony
that he contained? Was sacrifice the only meaning
to be found...?

Oh, now he circled round and round the moon,
seeking yet another beam, ne'er content to rest
within the shadow of the angles, worn and spent
upon a sense of quantity that lacked the quality
that he'd experienced as true with her. Once upon
a time, within a dream he ever knew as truth itself -
he loved her true (in moments that had felt themselves
alive and lovingly compelling the center of each cell
of flesh and living being), into another kind of looking
back while ever seeking yet ahead, for just
another glimpse into her eyes.

No more, no more - how would he e'er survive another
moment without her? And so he prayed
with all his might, for one more feel of truth
within the living energy, of that one and only
love that ever beat his heart
completely into her (perceiving still,
the particles of broken dreams invoked
by his departure). Only knowing that some day
an answer must be born.  Could he stay
awake just long enough to hear it...?

? Michaelette ?

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