Heart of ice, turned cold
the fires of desire burned the brightest.
I seek to understand the great appeal
of those extremities, that seem to overtake
the kindest hearts and even the most
How is it that a love so warm
into white fields of ice that never flow
through veins of human blood? Seldom
do these questions now arise within
my mind, and yet tonight, within
outstanding heat of great humidity,
I cannot help but wonder why again.
For I have sensed the stench
of a malignant air,
and known the pain of spears that lance
this flesh in unknown pain too many times
to simply leave it now at that. And so I seek
and so I search the many ways (invisible)
that you have ever sought to reach and touch
and thus achieve subliminal control o'er me.
I know you read my thoughts
now, for this
telepathy of our empathic ancestry still comes
at times supersedes those blind beliefs in what
reality is taught to be. Yet you and I, we've
reached and found our way to many points
beyond those misconceived beliefs in blind
idealism. And each of us, we've come to know
the difference between solitary individuality,
So tell me, erstwhile love
of memory, how is it
that you still believe that I would fall again
into those traps you set...? Have you under-
estimated me yet once again...? Do you really
think that mindsets of past ideation could ever
trap a spirit such as mine...?
Pray tell, what will you do
when you discover
that your undercover methods have been
photographed and prerecorded by a higher
source than you or I or they...? And where,
oh where, will you now find a place where
you feel safe...? I pity you, your lonely life
of intellect alone. And yet I feel that soon,
the many paths of your deception will find
a way to be redeemed again.
Don't get me wrong, there
is no hope now
left in my soul for this love to blossom yet
again between we two. For I have lived and
I have loved through many years of life of
in mortal form. And what you saw as
innocent stupidity within my eyes was
truly an enlightenment that lies beyond
Yet you still live there,
in your world
where blame becomes the ultimate
of verities. And so it shall affect you
in the many avenues of reprimands
you've used to keep the others in your
life still treading paths of your demands.
Subtle, oh your subtlety approached
of artistry, yet never have you dared to step
into these realms of the truth of pure creative
artistry; for you are bound and chained and
punished by those others that diminish
the very spirit that composes all the echoes
of your life. And now those echoes must
reverberate, for ever do these cyclic feelings
find their way back home.
Even into hearts of ice, that
must flow through these hot, sultry nights
of nature's great appeal...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...