Come to End

Write, as if the world might come to end
within the silence all around
the sound of hands on keys
o'er keyboard ever moving on
Tapping, lightly tapping rhythm
can be your therapy tonight

Stacatto, as the beat increases
Type, just type
and think, don't scream
and breathe, oh please
just don't forget to breathe
even as these memories
arise to flood the air
with this desire burning hot
without a point of satiation

It's so unfair sometimes
when the lot we draw
within the stream of all humanity
would leave us bare and thus bereft
of even just companionship

Seek deeper then
and higher still
for their must be a way to will
this love we need to be
yet once again within reality

but where and how and why?
when e'en the starry skies
are covered over by the clouds
of mind's denial

Too late, too late…
Can it really ever be too late?
Wait, just wait…
for what, and when?
another blind and reckless chance
to dance with you?
or for another moment
that speaks, no - screams
of yet one more departure?

How is it that you loved
and then withdrew?
so entirely, even when you knew
the pain you were imposing
by your absence

Eerie, now, as night descends
and realization dawns
Absence is the crime
more insidious than death itself
as like a mist it clings and climbs
permeating everything that could be right

Invisible, its stealthy moves
Blind, and yet it feels its way along
bringing sorrow to the sweetest songs
that ought to lift the heart
to heights of flight beyond imagining
but weighted so, where may it go
but down?

Deep down into the labyrinth of being
as some other part is fleeing, screaming
before the rushing hordes
of those imagined demons of the mind
Can you reach beyond the fear
of their reprisal?

Step back, step back
just one more step
and watch the play evolving
distanced from the actuality

Remember how to laugh again
at absurdly written incongruities
and change the script
That's it!
Just change the script . . .

for in the end, we each produce
the life we live within
and every script contains
a beginning that must come to end
that another, newly written scene
might get its chance to play
upon this ever-moving stage
we name a life

and the choice is always ours to make
is it time to give or time to take
or is it time to finally live
in and of this love's imagining?

for every end
has a beginning in its sight
and in the end the wrong and right
turn out to be pure make-believe
and love the one true meaning
of all life

?Michaelette?

3/1/2000
Copyright© 2000 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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