Of Essence

I think I have always been old.
A child once, but never really young.
Understanding songs that even now
are left unsung.
Faint the light, but ever bright
the feel of loss of love and home.
I've dwelt too long within these manmade walls.
Yearning for the symphony of opening at dawn
and slowly closing into indigo.
Learning more than I had need to know.
Wishing on a star for simple moments.
When a single touch must mean much more
than hordes of years or counted hours.
And a part of me has always been detached.
Perhaps I learned that as the lashes landed
on my back within some other life
lost back in the time we make of mind.
But with lucidity, there's always something missing.
Some great part that carries all the meaning.
Holding back until it hears my call.
Then taking me back to the core again.
Where I know myself essentially.
A particle within an endless sea.
Blessed by more than human worth.
Released from the great depths of wishing wells.
Where all those manmade worries turn
to no more than a fuel that might keep
the spirit's fire burning on.
Such is my plight.
To seek this misty light.
And simply write.
These understated words that flow
through fields of the feeling
of experience.
Describing essence.
Hoping that in some small way
it matters...

? Michaelette ?

7/1/2005
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .