Became Himself

He worked long hours
seldom complaining,
bearing tiredness to an extreme;
but always moving on
to another hour, another day
another project waiting.

At least he felt necessary,
and needed then by someone else;
while, in retrospect, at home
(for the place was named as such),
it was as if he never quite succeeded
in just fitting in at all.

Never did a fire burn
in heart or on the hearth,
that spoke in terms
of e'en companionship;
while every wish he ever made
upon those stars of nighttime skies
playing vaguely in his dreams,
seemed centered on a flame.

One flame that drifted
through the skies of mind,
endlessly inclining
near the sphere of all he was;
lightly touching, feather soft
each time he took the time
for just himself.

Then blown away again
as if its very being
somehow abhorred
the lies he lived
with such consistency.

Yet teasingly, it sang itself alive
through spacious skies of indigo,
sparkling in startled introversion,
knowing that he watched
the dance of her divinity;
as she played her way
throughout the galaxies.

Leaving him behind each time
he chose the walls he'd built,
instead of freedom ringing
just beyond the edge of sanity,
where worlds opened out
unto themselves;
and spirit was allowed to be
the gist of all integrity,
as falling free
he just became himself . . .

?Michaelette?

1/9/2001
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...