To Recognize the Whole

The power of observation.
So essential to the masterpiece.
To integrate the sense and state
of who we really are. We think.
Yet oh, to re-cognize the whole...

The flow of life is jeopardized
by every wall that's built.
The splits and the divisions
are the blades upon a hilt
of swords that war unto
the death of form again.

Guns exploding. Bombs eroding
any sense of safety in the sanctity
of life in flesh of form. Born into
a field that only sees extremes
and opposites. Power held
by those most cold and cruel.

Innocence usurped by their insistence
that the intellect's supreme. Yet here
and now, within the great expanse
of information's age and time, a great
unrest unsettles every living soul
that seeks to live again.

Complexities that lead back to confusion.
The grace of isolation turned back into
mass intrusion. Loops within their systems
that must shadow every symptom born.
Overriding the suspicion that
elite means omnipresence.
Seek to find the lies that power tells.

There was an autumn leaf that fell.
The growing winds had blown it
far from home. Its innocence protected it.
For even as it died, it came back home.
Back into the arms of love again.
Reaching past the fear and then,
expanding into yet another seed.

To realize the majesty within the mystery.
Cycles moving there, within the wind.
Connected to the underlying spin
of planets moving round the sun.
So ancient, yet so ever-young.
For there, an ancient planetary system
has been spied.

So few, the ones that can yet see the lies
that science tells. And know, without a thought,
the drought that lives within their every social form.
A ritual must touch the very heart of who you are
to be made real. But the religious atmosphere
has lost the feel of passion crying out for its equality.
Societies still come and go. Some secretly,
and some too bold. But still, there is the feel
of the unknown. Hordes of information gathered
cannot tell the tale held in one awakening.

The only instant message still remains
the telepathic. Invisible but real, it steals
itself into all conscious attitudes. Phones
no longer need a wire. Then why does man
aspire to need a phone...? Even mechanically,
their lies remain untrue. Industrial, the base
of their great information age. Condemning
all the little people to a life unbearable to they,
the titled people that hold freedom still at bay.

What of the many they choose to reduce,
in order that their little sparks might shine...?
While all the others, long ago, have seen
the king without his clothes divine. Who do
they think they're fooling, after all...?
The Presidents and CEO's that meditate,
insisting that their visions be made real.
From them, the feel of nothing real at all.

Another quest. Another jest. The water
in the cooler bubbles from their whispering.
Yet still, the king pretends to live above.
Even as he seeks the solace of another
feel of up above. For those below have
grown too bold for him. Close another
company, and make them suffer then.
Ensconced beneath another gold umbrella.

Strange, how growing older takes its toll.
The king attacked by stags too young to know
what he's achieved. He sees it as another
travesty. And thus creates another warring
task of tragedy. Sad but true, the tale
must be told.

The power of observation.
So essential to the masterpiece.
To integrate the sense and state
of everything within the soul.
We think. Yet oh, to re-cognize
the whole...

? Michaelette ?

10/26/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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