Enchanted silence . . . the quiet of creation
How can I yield to all
you ask of me...?
Do you realize the depth of what you ask...?
How it would wither us and wear us out;
before you ever fell into yourself again.
You wish, you want, you
plead with me
to only want the same; and yet I know
my need has grown beyond the past's
illusions of companionship and sexuality.
And then you back away
whenever I approach. As if some part
of you rejected everything I am or was
or might yet come to be.
Enchanted silence, music
of the heart.
The quiet of creation singing endlessly
through flesh. How could there ever
be an end to this, without disaster?
The quiet of creation's
echoing itself to evermore...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .