At Last

Best not to think about her.
For to think of her is to realize
his mortality. Where long forgotten
days of sunshine linger in his spine,
he takes another cup of wine
so that he might appear a man
controlling all that time.

He tried to understand his father's
obsession with things never grand.
She took him to a place where
every moment seemed to pulse
in their exposure. He let it lapse,
his father's past endeavors.
Caught between the then and now
that merged into the there and then,
he couldn't find a way to make it
through.

For the cells in his body were screaming
of truths left untold. Even as his dreams
formed teaming images of times that
went before. Until one day, an open door
presented itself, seemingly so free.
And a whispering within his head
declared his time had come to be.
At last...

? Michaelette ?

1/02/2005
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .