The Chosen One

Infatuation, make-believe (a source
of magic-in-the-making) - this is the
sustenance she came to live and breathe.
And ever was he at her side, back there
in that beginning. She felt as if those
oceanic tides could never reach as
high as those suspended mountain
heights they had achieved. Uncountable,
the seeds he planted in her womb. (Little
did she know the essence of all strength
he bled from her, e'en then.)

Final, finished, over, overcome. (What
had she done that he believed could
be done otherwise, in love...?) At first,
no more than just a little quarrel. (She
thought she'd handled that with ease.)
Yet slowly, surely, unremittingly -
his vast departure rose in increments.
(Why could she not come to believe it so,
back then within those decimals of
living alteration?)

A child conceived, and then another.
(Grace of life, why must this mighty
pain come in between the ecstasy of
passion they once felt?) Yet slowly,
surely, unremittingly - his great departure
rose in decibels of unknown being.
Together, they had moved in waves
of loving tides; but then he sole away, and
every nuance of their mighty love, cried out
again for this within her soul - the once-felt
unity of heart and flesh and mind within
an utterance of greater being. Gradual,
the intake and the output of each breath -
until it felt as if they'd never yet again walk
hand in hand and heart in heart - the way
they had begun.

She braced herself, and willed her soul
to wait, just wait for his return (again).
Insanity lay round the bend, awaiting
only her, as the ultimate of each extreme
insisted that it find a place in her. Coming,
going, right or wronged - it all began
to feel the same to her. For every time
he chose to let her go, another spasm
of almighty pain engulfed her frame.

She lived within his touch and died
within his every mood, when he withdrew
himself (so totally) from her. And so,
another wayward theme, expressed itself
through every cell of flesh she once thought
tamed. Misery, oh never-ending misery -
surely, given time, it must abate itself
somehow! Sleepless nights of dreams
became the proof of his existence in this
absence that he chose time and again.
(Too many times, too many places, too
much, too much - totality of his departure.)

She looked into the mirror and found
him there - beastly, just before he reached
the base of this reality of life. War and
sorrow walking hand in hand with him;
a dreamy mist of drizzle covering over
all the land he'd tread without her there.
Mud and ash, the roads ran on,
cracked and bleeding from the bombs of
men that chose to live in the abysmal depth
of all that paradox; battle yet left
untranscended; death again brought to
their flesh and form.

At last the awful firestorm died down.
Misery attained and spread throughout
the multitude, he sought again to tame those
wild demons by coming into her - just before
he went to war again (as all the healing
power that their love had come to bear,
receded into less than nothingness). He
refused to face her, eye to eye, at all - not
then. Instead he sought and found his end
amid those hellish fires of a battlefield
holding no repeal at all.

Her newly given sisters kept the vigil
of her mourning then, with her. As
silently, the spirit of all unity began
to lead her on and on and on. It seemed
as if forever came and went, before
her wisdom came to sound its voice within
that masculine reality again. And so the moon,
the tide, the mighty swells of great emotion,
deemed she be the chosen one, for this
(the gist of all humanity, in mourning)...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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