is no god, no deity.
No goddess of fertility.
Is that not where we all are at these days...?
So civilized and sacrosanct.
Too many minds convinced
they were conceived within a star.
Brilliant light that showed itself
through endless days and nights.
Denying it might ever come to fall.
So many times, it seemed divine.
What force could ever change
their waking will...?
and silent, grew the tiny seed.
Gathering itself within the greatness
of their need. Left within the darkness
to proceed. Hope of fated future held
within their destiny's disease. Feeding
on the wealth they had achieved.
Finding still, the nurturance received
within the womb, and yes, the egg.
in between the here and now,
and there and then. Brought forth
into the world amid dependence.
Fed and warmed. The past and future
warning them of what they might become.
While presence bade that they succumb
to every wish they dreamed. It was
as if she were a queen, and he, her
chosen king - first reaching for
the royalty of throne and tome.
power, genderless in style -
that stole, like an obsession, through and
through each cell of flesh encompassing
its opposite in gender. Always soft, and
yet so seldom tender. A newborn style.
Using them with every whim and wile.
Furthering an ancient creed thought
withered out and dead. A sorceress
of lifetimes lived amid the dread
of magic in creation. Reaching for
a heritage left in the forest's depths.
And yet it was as if she'd never wept
before, in earnest.
the ancient symmetry.
Calling on the powers of ancestry
and all the karma hidden deep within
each heart and soul. Answered in a power
of constancy. Never biding, never bound.
As if the old and new had finally found
a way to live within each other.
Knowing her true mother in the swaying
of the budding trees in spring.
there, within each bud that flowered,
blossoming in wells of great desire.
Chosen, and yet humbled by the power.
Learning of a patience that surpassed
the racing minutes and the hours of mind
that stood so all alone and unforgiving.
Charisma growing. Only showing
just a glint of all they were to those
who meant to use them up somehow.
each and every moment.
For now is all that ever really lives.
Giving naught, receiving much.
Holding others in their clutch.
Genius in the art of sorcery.
As in their souls, they wove the tapestry.
A touch of love received and given back.
Flourishing within the black of every
raven's wing that feathered out,
and then back to itself again.
as the sunlight streamed itself
into forgiveness. Bartering with moon
and stars that ruled the nighttime sky.
While magnets in their feet still kept them
walking on the earthen path, divine.
The touch, a feel, the light sublime - all
theirs to wield - beyond the manufacturing
of mortal time. Wax changing into yet
another face. As ancient images were
point of balance in the rhythm
and the rhyme of the eternal powers that
bind themselves so subtly into the future
hours of all life. Needing yet again to feel
the symmetry of great heredity.
Reaching out and crying with the wind
until their need was nurtured and they
finally settled into yet another pair of living,
loving arms in spring. Ancient, old, yet living
still. Within a youth that ever knew -
eternity within a flow of love...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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