The Food of Alteration

Moods, the food of alteration.
Feelings flying high and sinking
down into the depths. Searching
for a moment just to rest your
troubled soul.

There used to be a time when
all the world seemed a whole.
The fear had been embalmed
somehow, for many generations.
As distantly, we watched the real
appear on our TVs.

Side by side with images of
mere imagination. More and
more, we came to be the image
that some others thought might
really ought to be.

Until we reached a point of no return.
Real or just imagined, it all felt the very same.
And nothing that we did could tame
that building repertoire. Last chance,
before the night fell down, we watched
another clown pretend to laugh.

Imbibing in the preternatural.
Even as we lived as if it never
dared exist. Spirits kissed
with death-defying needs.
Intellects collectively denying
anything they could not see
and touch and sense,
all at one time.

Mysterious, the way mind climbs
so far above the social norms that
we are bred to live. And sinks
into the depths forever labeled
anathema. Devious, the schemes
that undiluted power brings.

Good and evil, juxtaposed - that
never really was the gist of life.
The secret lies within a transformation.
Slowing down, those other worlds
speed up.

We feel it in the moods that can defy
the staunchest wills; and live it in
the others that we dare to come
to know. Cold to hot and there,
in each degree that lives between
the good and bad and black and white
of time.

Moods, the food of alteration.
Ideas that explode into our lives.
Feelings flying high and sinking
down into the depths. Searching
for a moment just to rest your
troubled soul.

There used to be a time when
all the world seemed a whole.
And so did we...

? Michaelette ?

10/26/2002
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