Celestial, the choirs sing.
Celibate, the great extreme.
Never loving anyone at all.
Punishing themselves for being
sexual at base.
Humanity, the never good enough.
Drink another cup of wine
to numb the greatest pain.
Religiously, the children sing
of tender, loving touch.
Innocence, and then the great
Hormones rising, falling up and down
into the very earthen sky. Adult would
not be easy after all. Not with all the
loving falling up into the afterlife.
Only mother love that's true,
allows the altering.
Change and growth - the scope of evolution.
Stern to simple, gently then, the rage began again.
At first no more than just little particle of irritation.
Until the father forced his
into her very flesh. Intoxicated,
all the anger that he didn't dare express
out there within society at large -
began to intermesh within her womb.
Rage became the price of wealth and fame.
And nothing ever was the same again.
Amid the pain, a child was
So different from the norm.
Glowing with an other-worldly light.
Touch so soft and gently healing.
It grew, and yet the programming
was never set in stone.
Oh the love, of childhood
as mother left the father far behind.
(A parent is a parent, after all...)
Love in touch, enlightenment.
Celestial, the choirs sing,
of love within the altering
of blind beliefs that never touched
in honesty that always brings
the truth into the view of our
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2002, Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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