Sunday, 30 September 2007

Fata Morgana

We stand, wind in our hair
and I filled with desire
We dance, the sun steals my sight
and you its fatal fire
I close my eyes to see you
and awaken to naught
I walk in a waking dream with a burning that you have wrought
Phantasmic flights of fancy;
a reverie;
takes my heart where it dares
not.
And this, my delusion be,
that I will be taken unawares.
Quixotic presences on my periphery threaten reality’s fragile grasp
At times, unqualified am I to see
my dreams must withdraw at last.
For dream and waking shall never meet
this place only that which is.
And supreme, exemplary and sweet shall ever be my ignis fatuus.