Almost Fey

Confusion unaltered.
She bled on the altar
where once a love so full
was offered to the drifting
moods of man and moon
in cyclic motion.

Sacrificial lamb.
Sweet martyr's blood.
The scalpel bit into her skin.
Bleeding out her life unto the end.
The threshold had been crossed.
Her body lost.

Yet still, she had a sense of being real.
Standing in the mists, still waiting
for a simple feel of love in heaven.
Perhaps the purgatory that she'd
lived would never really end at all.

Too moist for hell, but still no clarity.
As if the will to be was all she'd
ever been made of. Looking back,
she loved them all, in turning paths
of utter restitution. So many years,
yet still the resolution would not come.

The patterns of her life had been undone.
Even as she looked afar, she saw them
tearing down her house. Erecting units
of apartment buildings. Her life, her love,
her family - what future could there be...?
Now that all the safety had been spent.

Shadows lingered there, within the corners
of the film grown in her eyes. The blue of skies
seemed royal here somehow. A place,
a space, another mode of being.
Not yet accustomed to its way of seeing.

Confusion unaltered.
She bled on the altar
where once a love so full
was offered to the drifting
moods of man and moon
in cyclic motion.

And yet her man was nowhere
to be found. Not even here, where
vows were said to sound the waves
of air into eternity of form. She felt
a breeze pass through her then,
and followed it with ease. Not caring
where it might blow to this time.

And glory of glories, where once
was a stain, the love of her life
stood before her again. An offering
that bore no sacrifice. The easing
and abeyance of the past. The future
flying far away. A present moment,
almost fey, and yet too real
to ever let it go...

? Michaelette ?

7/21/2004
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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