It lingers still, the happening
on the edge of all the shadows
once created by a light divine.
Wanting, needing - fearing to be born.
Misunderstood, it wondered
long and far
in netherworlds. Denied, unwanted,
it grows in the dark recesses of being.
Twisting, turning, torturing your soul.
Too dense for mere movement.
An invisible heaviness permeating
all the atmosphere. Breathe deeply,
and feel it there, lingering in you.
It lingers still - the happening,
and stays until you to feel it
through and thorugh...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2002, Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .