Seasons of Divinity

The weather turned so suddenly - the
humid heat of August days to sweeping
tones of autumn leaves again. Too soon,
too soon, this love of life amends the
smoothness of the groove where we had
lived those long, sweet days of summer's
opening. The green is still surrounding me,
but now through windows closed to all
the starry wonder of the night. As memories
of other days arise.

I wonder why it must be me that's left to live
here where the two of us once lived together;
and how it was you got to simply walk back
to that other life of yours, still full of all the
busy things that always had been yours.
How is that, through all these many months,
some part of you is lingering with me? No
matter how I've wished it to be otherwise
than this.

It is as if we have become the storm clouds
in the very darkness of their being. We are
the winds that ride on high, expressing every
feeling of this earth that lives her life in ever-
flowing waves of moisture become real.
We thunder and we scream, and thus
we bring this realm of vast emotion to
extremes its ever known as true.

Yet then, we touch yet once again within
a dream, as newfound lovers always must,
upon a gentle breeze of tenderness; reaching
for another peak of loving ecstasy, that
only two of us can bring to this, the living
splendor of all being. Oh, memory of great
imagination - why do you come again to
torture me...? I loved, I lost - so great
the cost that I may never come to pay
its price in full.

Memories of summer breezes rise just as
a blast of icy cold blows by. Sheer beauty
lies within such balance; natural yet fleeting
by the standards of a plastically produced
society. Sunlight blazes bright on particles
of ice (for fire and ice have never paid the price
of hated enemies). Rather they become a
streaming wonder in the air we need to breathe,
as their great unity resoundingly abounds within
our lives. Lightening slashes through the pouring
rain; thunder speaks a peak of her expression
as it rattles all those window panes; and yet those
storms wash out the wrongs to bring another
swarm of green to please and thus appease
e'en mortal eyes.

Where shall we set the standard then,
or seek to set a staid and static norm...?
When nature's form is ever changing,
in arrangements that blow even thought
away. Yet nature once again insists, that
she alone will have her way with me.
The skies wept as the mighty god of light
began to thunder; just before surrendering
to this, her love of life - that graces and then
braces all infinity to come to be a pattern
of reality in form and shape and spaces
ever opening to more.

Patiently, she bides that mortal time
of life's unmaking. Perseveringly, she
seeks to alter every choice that they have
ever made. For the world and the weather
turn forever at a pace unmeasured by a
merely human instrument. And spirits speak
aloud, abounding in each breath of living air.
When suddenly, the greater flows of wind
amend again the flow and feel of summer's
grandiosity of warmth.

An unshed tear; we close the windows as
another chill of night draws near. While
more and more the dreams of night become
a clarity that never seems to end. We wake,
yet we cannot amend their mood. Silently,
we ease ourselves into another season, always
leaving reason out of rhyme that rushes through
the many roles we seem to play. While memories
of sultry, summer days play endlessly within
the living light of night's divinity...

? Michaelette ?

10/24/2001
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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