Nights with our chimera's enrobed in
mirrored thought or living days all dreamt.
To sleep and dream or walk and dream,
in which do we awaken?
Is the story told in our work or in what we’ve really done
with heart, head and hand grasping the true Divine,
or a sweetened simulacrum?
A contorted world of closeness draws us near
but dare we really touch? An acted kiss on not true lips
or caress of a lovers lissome body cannot arouse
as the promised heart so dear
Reading faces with quickened pulse or hearts led
by others pens, lives to be lived and stories known;
the truth foretold or a fabled future yet.
If we just bit and not thought of what would be
the flavor of the peach; just reached out
and snapped its small stem from the branch
while it was pungent ripe and ready
Tales compost upon the page of the fallen
bruised and rotten. The thought of and remembered
pale dearly to the tasted and forgotten.
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