He Once Knew

The red dragon, now entombed
within a cave among his many
jewels. Slowly dying as he sleeps
and dreams himself into the past
of foggy memories - if only these
old memories would come, in truth
and in reality, to him again awake...
(Fading - like a mist upon the moor
within a sun-baked summer morn -
until he was no more...)

He sleeps within her bed again tonight.
Legally, they call her wife to him.
Cold as ice, she withers on the edge;
as he himself is driven to the other.
Loyalty and fealty, amid adversity.
Why were all these feelings rising
in his heart just now?

Anciently, the modern mode of
insecurity arose. What good these
walls and windows of his home,
when girders made of steel could
melt into a mound of nothing more
than rubble? He used to think he
walked alone, finding comfort and
release within a strange and alien
creation, too often still conceived
as manhood and the power of that
manliness that used to dare to
stand alone - protecting all the
innocence they used to live.

Yet here he lay again, with her -
this wife whose scent bespoke
no more than death. How was it
that these unknown men and
others' imaging now came to blow
his world apart again? Where now,
were the foundations of that blind belief
that used to calm his soul? Oh yes,
he still pretended everything would
be okay, and yet a doubt (too startling)
would keep him wide awake into the
night. As if an unknown *something*
in the starlit indigo, were calling him
to come back home again.

'Twas then he saw her eyes, so
dazzling. They shone right through
the winter clouds now strewn across
the endlessness of sky; and brought
to him a feel a warmth that he had
never really felt entirely before. Surely,
beauty sought her out to find its scheme
and guide its patterning, there among the
particles of value. (In the dream. Yes,
yes - again within this treasured dream!)

Just dozing off, he woke again. Oh no,
she lay there still! Content with just that
slivered edge of bed. His wife, that word,
it lacked a depth of meaning. He rose and
watched the rosy glow of dawn arise again -
still wondering and wandering within a
dream that he once knew as real.
(Fading - like a mist upon the moor
within a sun-baked summer morn...
until he was no more...)

? Michaelette ?

1/4/2002
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...