it like it is.
Without the spattered words
that can't quite cushion
all the pain you're handing out.
Exquisitely, the words are ready.
Phrases waiting, couched within
the matrix of your mind.
Reach and find them written
by your hand. Even when
you can't quite understand
what's being said. Linger in
the background once again.
For just this once, you must
become the spotlight being
bled into the crowd. People
pushing round you, feeling awe.
Spirit once expressed can see it all.
Leaking through the black and white,
like ashes scattered into airborn eyes.
Oh love, don't cry.
It doesn't matter why.
It must be so.
This ordinary death must happen too.
It doesn't mean the end of anything.
Feel the new beginning streaming
through and through the breaths
that I no longer have the energy
to give and take within this weary flesh.
It's like an angel passing through
and through this flesh again.
And just this once, you intermesh
entirely with all that ever is.
The fear is gone.
The heart has won.
The war is past.
In everlasting gratitude,
I pass my heart to thee
to carry on...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .