part of me is it that keeps me alive...?
When mind and heart and spirit are forlorn.
And all my hopes and dreams lie torn
and shattered on the floor. When consciously
I wish that I had never e'en been born.
I tell myself I might as well be dead.
No tears are left inside me to be shed.
Just then another poignant drop
comes rushing down my cheek.
insulation all wore thin.
The defense of my walls are crumbled
heaps of might have been that never
found the real of life in form at all.
A hitch. Another stall. My heart
is trembling. Again about to fall.
Teetering upon a brink of utter empathy.
Some other soul, full of despair,
has fallen into me. A mist, too thick,
forbids me now to see another
starting point in me.
tangled to the nth degree.
Streaming from the others into me.
They smile, but their smiles never
reach into their eyes. They look,
but never see the silver-blue of
freedom flying in the skies. They
never learned quite how to cry it out.
Instead they turn each swell into
another rushing rage of wrath
imbued with all the power of
they ever knew in two. Rejecting
each sensation bringing pain.
The rain begins in earnest then.
It weeps into my weary pen.
Paper stained, I write the words
again. Speakng yet another soul's
destruction. Aching to be freed
from this, my task. Seeing past
the masks to feel the real of every
mood that they deny.
gone limp. My spirit weak and shaken.
Wishing for the worth of a sensation
that might let me fly again. Searing hot,
the fire burns, in tempered flesh that
yearns for something more. I drift.
It shifts. The morning is exposed.
Sunlight pouring through the clouds.
The sparrows aren't singing anymore.
Pure moment of a natural disaster.
Read the words within the cracking plaster.
Tease them out and rest, unsatisfied.
never really loved you anyway.
He never meant it when he said he'd stay.
(From where, this wise-ass voice that
plays so constantly inside my head?)
Yet still you live in quiet desperation.
Wishing for the love you gave away.
While all the thieves live on within
their heaps of molten gold. You feel
as if you had been bought and sold.
The freedom of their slavery is bold.
poet born and bred in poverty.
The joy of life turned into misery.
Heart exposed upon your sleeve.
A metal arrow aimed and loosed.
Cupid must have been a chimpanzee.
While Eros weeps upon his mother's knee.
And all the fates are smothering
in chemical disease.
scent of flowers speaking
in the breeze. The grass is turning
green again. The ice and snow
just melting. Beneath it all, debris
once buried, rising up again.
The glass is both half empty
and half full. Another sip dislodges
all the symmetry they thought they
knew so well. Rivers dammed,
the streams are all dried up.
yet there is a part of us
that keeps us living on.
Looking for a purpose in
the ripples in the pond.
Feeling still, the vibrancy
of energy in motion.
Emotion moving on within us all...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .