The midnight sky is beckoning
there beyond the endless chant
of moon that never quite comes
real at all. A stillness bent on just
meandering - it leads us on.
For here, we are no more than
just a whisper in the winds
of destiny. And the deepness
of the indigo becomes the darkness
held within all being.
Will we attack, before the
Or might we, just this time, hold back..?
To seek the sensuous arousal of the
darkness that we lack in intellect.
Oh moon, behold, the utter
of this, your chosen path. Oh sun,
why won't you come to us at last?
Unhindered still, this magic comes
to haunt us in our dreams. What
schemes could ever hope to hold
Now, when the midnight sky
is beckoning. And soul responds...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...