Transitory Stance

Life is a never-ending series of transitions
as we breathe our way
through moments of unique experience
building, blending, tearing down
yet always moving on into the next
never knowing quite for sure
what change is drawing near

While without thought, the dusk descends
turning swiftly to a dark
of seeming endless winter eves
as excruciating feelings
of a vaster hibernation rise
to take the fore
and force the struggling intellect
back into its place as only one
of many multitudes
each based upon division

as sometimes pleasure, often pain
but feeling nonetheless
makes its way into the many webs
of thought we've spun
and we've only just begun
to sense this flesh
from which all thought ascends

Tasting blood that flows through every age
and stage of infinite transition
that felt the Aztec rites of body's frailty
within denunciation
in offerings of and to the feel
of this invisible divinity
born of the entirety
of landscapes seen within
the utter beauty found
in untamed, savage vistas

Oh, desperate scope of hope
brought to an end
through intellect's denial
of its own misunderstanding
while all that ever has been known to be
cries out for life
and pure remembrance of being
as infinity plays through
the fields of all life's interaction

The truth of all experience is in a feel
that filters through the labyrinths of being
and nothing can be really known at all
without the very senses and sensations
that uniquely channel every great emotion

Ascending from the depths of earth
while caught within descent of airy heights
Here we stand, one moment of pure being
attempting to encompass both at once
somehow centering it all
this rise and fall of all reality
moving with eternity
in each minute and transitory stance

Knowing, yet not knowing where it is we go
or from whence these feelings
might have come to us
wandering through fields of stars
that shed their brightness there
in planes of endless deeps of indigo
and there we meet
at first no more than fond remembrance
of days when flying high was everything
but now become a stream of light itself
pouring down in golden dreams
of flight and light remembering it all . . .


Copyright© 2000 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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