Breaking Through
(Life and Love in a Nutshell)

Breaking through the blocks of inhibition.
Seeing life for what it really is - with love.
He looks at her and sees his chosen image.
Transferring his hopes and dreams
of love come true to her. She does
the same. Sexual, the pregnant moment
when the marriage vows are made.

Legality, and then the greater systems
enter in. Expectations tumbling through
the love that they once knew so true
between themselves alone. Society,
religious creeds - and then the Jones's
force their way right in. Where then the feel
of happy ever after that they dreamed...?

A child born - oh newborn morn of angels!
Happiness again, for just a little span of time.
Look into the angel's eyes, remembering
the times that you touched heaven in the flesh.
They intermesh - as roles begin to cross
themselves in you. Mother, father - ah no more,
the safety of the womb where children dream.
Yet two can never really be just one -
without the love of every new beginning.

Dick and Jane in grown up clothes -
not ever really knowing what to do.
The baby cries, and then interpretation
really comes to enter in. What is it that
they really need this time? A guessing game
that never seems to end. The feel of need,
emotional and more. Breast feed them and
then change another diaper. Sleep just
can't be necessary now.

See Dick run, and watch again, as Jane
just tumbles after. Their laughter isn't present
anymore. Make another run into the store,
for formula and diapers that amusingly,
must end up in the garbage heap, no matter
what they reap. Beyond the point of tired,
they are wondering just what they're doing
wrong. Is it colic or another kind of need
they just can't seem to fill for this, their
progeny?

Enter the authorities - wearing white,
and quite attuned to gross financial power.
They'll charge them for a moment's indecision.
Dick and Jane, who once thought that
precision could be theirs. Reaching
for a point, a place, a space - they
never really knew how to create.
The inquisition never seems to end.
And oh, the growing pains that they
are forced to just endure yet once again.

Family histories - and in-laws preach.
New opinions rise to reach the hordes
in those commercial images. A plague
of good advice that does no more
than just confuse. The babe in arms
is growing up, but they just feel confused.
Memories of other days begin to enter in.
They tried their best to do it all just right.
Why was it that it all turned out so wrong?

There was a time - they can remember when
they too, were of an age to start in school.
It used to be so simple, way back then.
And somehow, in the mists of this confusion,
the love that they once shared with one another,
simply fades. The days become a mighty rush
of always seeing to an other's need. The ecstasy
of love that they once knew is history. Repetition
seems the only seed that they have left. Day or
night, what difference does it make...?

It used to be their nights were full of pleasure.
The seeking and the finding of the feel of ecstasy -
found within an other's loving touch. But now
the mother and the father are not lovers anymore,
and are forced to take the consequences back into
themselves, even as they watch their children sin.
For the little one(s) must constitute it all.
No matter at what stage of growth they are.

Past to present into future's span.
And over time, somehow the two as one
can come to really hate each other - repeating
that old mantra of a marriage lived to death.
The new name of the game now played:
let's stay together - for the sake of the child.
Or shall we get divorced this time around,
and find ourselves unbound from this insanity...?

Yet still, they tend to dream at night, and sometimes
through those endless days of wishing for
another touch of just one happy memory.
Nightmare haze of college days, induced
by never knowing who they were. Remembering
the feel of real adventure. Abundantly,
their lives become a theme that never
really knew of love at all. And the doctors
just don't have another cure. No one
ever told them that the growing up would
ever come to feel so cold and cruel.
And time goes on.

Their family therapist was wounded by
the many lies their patients came to tell.
The wound became so real, they were
eventually hospitalized. What then...?
And then the crowds that claimed
the expertise moved in and swarmed
them yet again. No! This was not part
of that great dream that they once dared
to dream together! A moment's clarity,
and love revived - no matter any images
of past and done.

Breaking through the blocks of inhibition.
Seeing life for what it is - with love.
He looks at her and sees his chosen image.
Transferring his hopes and dreams
of love made real to her. She does
the same. It matters, what they come
to name as true. To love oneself, just
know and speak the truth of what you feel.
It isn't always pleasant at the first -
but then within a long-awaited burst
of inspiration, love returns - and lingers
there, to bring another springtime
of the heart.

Another start, another new beginning.
As love itself breaks through - to temper
the illusions of the real, and heal it all.
The choir of angels sing another
brand new symphony. Even as that
ancient family history is put to rest.
You are you, and I am simply I.
Until another union of legalities
arises to confound us once again.
This time, let's find a way to love it all -
together and apart - for this new start
must be the spark of every new beginning.

Enjoy it while you may for what it is,
the beginning of another newborn ending -
for those dreamed about tomorrows seem
to bring no more than just another game
that each of us must finally come to lose.
That same old game where life and death
become the paradox that's mis-defined as love -
now grown into another ancient theme -
that modern minds too often turn into
another scheme of love's abuse.

What now...? The siren's call,
it is unending. What present choice
could e'er appease the wrongs that
have been done...? One by one,
the knots are all untangled.
And then, just then, they hear a voice -
one of aged, ancient whispering
singing on a newborn clarity of wind,
as the reality of love returns again...

? Michaelette ?

8/9/2002
Copyright© 2002 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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