Where does one go when the inspiration is gone?
Love laid aside by cruelty,
destroyed by darker needs of killing gains.
Forced into tortured extremes of isolation,
even as they move along among a mob.
Other automatons staring blank-eyed,
straight ahead, as if there only ever
were a single destination.

Definitions quantify a life.
Role playing has become the great illusion.
Demarcations border and imprison,
implicating yet more limitations.
Power held, the golden rules.
Brain-washed youth, ineptitude.
Relatives - no relativity.
To memorize is not to think it through.
Creation is the birth of something new.

The trance is being broken
by a greater power yet.
Webs designed by secret signs
are altering, unasked. Invisibly,
the microchips are changing everything.
Particles of nanoseconds streaming
through a brand new opening.

What is this thing? Well, it all depends
on where you're looking from.
The essence of perspective is
an ever-changing pattern.
Now you see it, now you don't.
Its mystery is all-encompassing.
Consciously aware - of what or when?
The subject and the object start to blend.
Nothing is allowed to stay the same.

Cool wind moving branches in the breeze.
Enlightening the world with sunny ease.
Baby frogs that skip like stones
across the mirrored pond before they sink.
The myriad of moisture that we drink.
Here! No, there! Oh where your focus now?

Coming back to love again somehow.
A tender touch, silk satin lips.
Eternally, each kiss will linger on.
Sun and earth in ambience.
A falling star to steal a glance.
The moon still glows in sleepy ecstasy.
Perhaps we only really need to be...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2002 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .