There is possibility alive
within the wind
as new horizons vastly congregate within the old;
happiness impending in a state that must
rebirth itself to utter being -
shaking and quaking in tones that run high
no longer lying 'neath the deepest seas,
for the sea has taken flight in waves
of flowing currency.
Powering the hours that
keep moving down the line,
removing every question asked
of space and then of time,
as righteousness becomes
the wrong of every ending
that must move itself to hues
of new beginnings yet again.
Something is coming,
lightly dancing near the brink
stars wishing for a link to destiny,
prospering incredibly, in timeless ways
that usher in a momentary hush
just before the rushing of the
winds of fate begins.
Poetry sings itself alive
within pure mists
of mind's unknowingness
become aware at
last of all that it still needs to learn
before it ever calls itself aware.
And something is coming;
feel the possibility
that sings in whispered tones
awakening a rhythm that can move
the lulling moods and attitudes
into a brighter state of hopefulness.
It springs, full-formed, into
familiar shapes to change the tone
of all we say and do - moving of its own accord
through hordes of never-ending words of worlds
where make-believe somehow can be complete.
Beyond the brink,
where particles repeat eternally
blending and reforming all that used to be
into something that's coming,
so swift and so true
the standards of the modern world
must bow to its precocity . . .
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...