Are we here yet
Wearing masks to hide
The first response,
Any is better than none at all
And I still am feeling bereft of the joy
Of communion.
Are we the masters and mistress of illusion,
When words parry and thrust
Unaware of the spectacle
Created behind the lit screen,
Does the audience watch the stage
Or are they in the lobby
Seeking refreshment.
I act the part written
As I know no other
I seek to be the faun
Or a mirage of illusion,
But looking in the mirror
I stop to peer
At what I see
And there is sadness where once lay joy
And there are questions
Still unanswered
But perchance I delay too long questioning
The mind of a master
Who knows himself
Much better than I.
Words come unencumbered,
I the woman behind the curtain
As if Oz really existed except in the mind
Of a wayward minion,
And though this makes not much sense
Except to the masses of the wondering,
I spill forth
Like a vessel of rich wine,
Pouring out to the dirt
At my feet
Missed but making a colored mud,
Resplendent in its illusion
Of a life once known.
I am thinking art, Shakespeare and the stars sent by a friend of which I hold dear.
Gotta love a fine piece of art and the way it uplifts even the sullen of heart.
I see the moon beyond the window, waxing gibbous or something as such….night air cooling and damp and still I sit pondering this life we live, filled with illusion and the magic of friends….for those listening this cool autumn like night, a word is better than none at all,alas no more shall be spoken. Goodnight.
Peace, Love and Patchouli 