to rest but not yet quite at peace.
Dead and buried, never quite deceased.
A ghostly image brought by reveries.
Deceiving all the possibilities.
Receiving naught but scents of age
within a sense of age-old rage.
They weren't saints
nor can we be their sinners.
Decaying far beneath the earth.
Entombed before they found rebirth.
in corners of our dreams.
Ruining the atmosphere
of all our newborn schemes.
Denying that their time is really over.
Insinuated under moving covers of the night.
A dimness that still seeks to find the light.
Attached while floating far away.
Through dreams of bright and airy days.
The past is past. It couldn't last.
No matter any will o'er mind and matter.
Spirits rise, reminding them to leave.
To seek another realm in which to grieve.
And find a way of letting go
the trivia they used to know.
To sleep, to dream, to find the source
of life and love beyond discourse.
And rest within the vision
of their need...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .