I'm feeling better, day by
sadness drift away. Knowing I have
done my best to love and bring what
happiness I may. I find, at times, that
altered lives and a sense of crisis
tend to make us feel as if the good
we do or did began to whither, like
a flower left too long without drink.
Distended, time begins to
but only when I think in terms of total
opposition, and thus an annihilation of the
beauty that lies in between . Young or old, or
simply middle-aged, a pattern must unfold
in every variation of the themes unendingly
completing themselves through us.
The past comes back, and yet I must have
faith that it will never really be the same again -
for I strive for something better than we've
ever been before.
Resifting, all the particles
will come to
blend again, more surely as we try to
make amends for every past departure
from the path our spirit needs to walk.
Explosively, I see young children playing
war games in the park these days, each
time they hear a plane fly overhead. I
take the time to stop and ask them why
they think it must be so, explaining to their
fear that every airplane with an engine
does not carry bombs that way.
The days are long and strangely
I cannot seem to rearrange them just the
way they always used to seem to be. And
so I choose to make a difference in the
pattern that I live today. I smile at a stranger
walking down the street, and greet them like
a friend. I move myself again beyond the
walls I think of as protection. I dare to speak
the truth of my convictions, and thus revenge
is lessened by at least another nudge, or a
fraction of degree.
And too, I feel this sense
of grief, greater than
perhaps I've felt before; and yet I know that I can
rise above the many challenges it sets. For I am
here, alive and kicking (if not completely sane), and
I choose to tell the tale another way, just out of
bounds of what the social mastiffs come to say
must be the way. I'm sure I will be numbered
with the others choosing that real life was never
meant to be politically correct. And popular opinion
poles will never show my name. Yet still, although
I'm one alone within a myriad sea of endless others,
I must believe my heart and soul have chosen to
attain this form right now, in just this way -
and for a reason.
Thus, I must continue this
blind search for meaning,
watching darkness lighten into brighter pastel hues.
At times, the deepness of pure red will come to turn
my head; and yet I know the brightest white will always
come to intervene and lighten up the load. It flows, that
sense of time become an endless moving stream of
everything; as death becomes no more than just another
stepping stone to something other - some other state
of mind perhaps, where being comes to be much more
than any state of free that we can realize. I close my eyes,
and see them all - the many that have passed me on somehow,
and I know that they're still here for me, no matter that I
can no longer grasp their loving hand.
And because of this, I'm feeling
day by day; letting sadness drift away.
Knowing I have done my best to love
and bring what happiness I may - to life
in form, and too, to those reborn into
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...