The Landscape

There, between the concrete and the fence.
They used to plant flowers just there.
Marigolds to fill the space
with blooms of joy and scents
of endless grace. She's dying now,
the landscape looks so bare.

And there, within the silent flare
of sun on metal links; her sense
of safety turns somehow ambivalent.
As she paces in the squares of all
her self-imposed imprisonment.
Her understanding comes and goes
too quickly as the cancer grows in her.

The now within those times gone by.
Dream imagery can be so very real.
A tear that touches every little smile.
She knows she's lost it all, and yet
she still can't find a way to let it go.
As if the silent sound of her denial
were holding it together, even now.

Woe be gone, an ancient style
of symmetry lives on. As cyclically,
the moon surrounds the earth
and then the sun. Poignantly,
the motion fills her mind. Seeking
still to find an understanding,
that lies too deeply hidden
under ground.

There, between the concrete and the fence.
They used to plant flowers just there.
Marigolds to fill the space
with blooms of joy and scents
of endless grace. She's dying now,
the landscape looks so bare.

While there, within the whiteness,
glows the nature of her ever-growing hair.
Life never claimed that living would be fair.
Sun to moon to earth to pond.
A ray of light become a diadem.
Pencil thin, then bursting out
in dire reflections of their doubt.
Dying still, yet living ever on...

? Michaelette ?

10/11/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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