Birth to Death

Narcotic mist, the morphine sang
all through her cells and aging brain.
Sentences left uncompleted.
Images repeating in eternity.

It all became so black and white again.
Even as her life of pain grew dim.
Giving up, the doctors just prescribed
another drug.

Supposed to make her comfortable
with her impending death. They never
noticed that it didn't work. But then,
they had a habit of denying worth
within their own emotions.

Discomfort, tears...? Give her yet
another dose of those narcotics.
Surely numb is better than to be
misunderstood. So they decreed
within their own misunderstanding.

Yet still she strove to take a hold
of individuality. Her grieving was
a part of life, that's all. No matter
that it made men fall into a realm
they never knew at all.

Another step without a fall.
Attaining all within a movement.
Graciously attending to one
ever-living moment at a time.
Confused by all the rushing signs
imposed by mortal mind.

Quiescent though, at times, as if
the feel of bliss were rising within her.
Reaching for an other world.
Accepting slowly, all that was untold.
In the end, the truth came out.
She didn't need the doctors, after all.

For her spirit, her own soul,
had seen her through.
Birth to death, still living out
the marvels of the realms
of in between...

? Michaelette ?

10/7/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .