Autism

Autisticly, they move about their lives.
Without a word of all their inner strife.
Believing that an other one
could never come to understand
the place they are imprisoned in.
Yet hoping beyond hope,
for heroes living in the wind.

So few, the hearts and souls
that dared combined their states of mind
into a view that must defy the modern
shock of disbelief - that cannot understand
the moods of alteration in the rhymes
that live beyond all time.

Faerytales seldom have a really happy ending.
The good and bad are mixed within,
but few of them have come to true transcendence.
So they invade the little children, with a smile
so full of their ambivalence. And thus,
the child's world shrinks to smaller, after all.

For all the love they needed was on call.
Too many calls that had no answer,
anywhere within the sense and feel of
the reality that had been preached
to them, ad nauseum. By parents and by
teachers and by peers. It mattered not,
their ancestry, nor any pillared majesty
of wealth. Unfulfilled, their need remained
encapsulated in the visions that they
had no way to share in all alone.

More than just unsettling, the trauma lived.
It began to pull the future to itself. As if too many
others in their lives had felt the narcissistic pull
that took them far away from all the truth
they knew. Fact and fiction. Withered diction.
Silence claimed the atmosphere they breathed.

An atmosphere too filled with savagery
to ever be acceptable. The timid less the bold
would take the time to contemplate the great
division. For normal never had a place
in time. And there, within their minds,
the chasm opened. Sought and found
within the shadows lingering between
the lines of every long equation.

And there, with the artistry of each
autistic life, another wall is built
to keep them out. Without a word
that speaks the blight
of all their inner strife.

Believing that an other one
could never come to understand
the place they are imprisoned in.
Yet hoping beyond hope,
that truth will ever echo in the wind
An ardent dream arising that
remembers all the best times
ever lived...

? Michaelette ?

4/29/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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