Seven veils, seven spheres,
seven realms of magic coming clear
within these fields of our sensational
appeal. Rainbow clouds are coloring
the sky; their reason why a sketchy
etching of a newborn prophecy,
reaching for its shape and place in time.
Priestess, have you seen
in that silvery waters' gleam? Oh,
still and silent pond of life, how vast
your power of remembering - one source
and essence of creative life and energy,
on this, the night when full of moon
descends again arousing the vast
power of femininity.
Focus - wider, higher,
deeper - see the
river snaking like a serpent bent
upon destruction; rippling waters
rushing past the roaring of the rocks.
Now see the mountains opening out,
growing ever smaller in the vastness
of it all. And know yourself as true,
e'en here, within this towering complexity -
returning once again to nature's call.
You are the dragons' wings
rise and fall; you are the air upon which
every moment of its flight depends; you
are those eyes of glittering - just as the
fire streams again, enlightening the land
in scapes of uttered thunderbolts. Yet
never would you seek to end the beauty
that encompasses a maiden fairly born.
The horns of a bull resemble
at a mere quarter of its aptitude of wisdom;
yet at the full, play tunes that sing in vast
vibrations of divinity. Deep and smooth,
they reach for heights that fly in sweet
reverberations of the rising tides of spirit
voices finally being heard, just as the
crescent moon decides to speak her
revelation once again.
And now, right now, this
truth of prophecy
lies open; glistening within these rising tides
of windblown fantasy come true. Now,
before another season's passing. Here,
upon this earth that is our home. For
we have reached beyond the point of
all departure; healing even essence
as we dare to be ourselves unto the full.
Fields of wild clover issue
with melodies of love's reopening tonight.
Faeries take to flight in mass reunion.
Magicians, so long in the waiting, must
return and claim the essence of their fate
yet once again - as lovers come to bless
this ever-living source of flesh divine.
And the rivers run in seasons'
expanding understanding in an exposition
that belies all secrecy. They bleed, as if
the cycles of this earth itself, were brought
back into rhythmic synchronicity, as seeds
begin to sprout anew within this feel of
This feel of love becomes
in flesh of form again, as rainbows flow
in glory round the sun and every star
agleam within the indigo; as all we know
is set aside, and new creative worlds
become the source of our reopening.
Imaginary pasts recede
into an emptiness,
that never took its hold within existence
of this consciousness awakening itself.
Ever-changing tides begin to wax and wane,
singing in a sweet refrain of all the joy
of love that's happening - here in particles
uncountable by intellect or the machines
of mere duplicity that only count to two,
then fade away.
Seven veils, seven spheres,
seven realms of magic coming clear;
on this, the night, when rainbow bright,
the veils disappear...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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