ILLUSION

What is this flash, this pointless dash, a journey through this time?

It’s borrowed space, this lonely place; it’s fantasy sublime.

And so, this dream-like endless stream of likenesses at play,

make this fake scene and make-shift theme take form then slip away.

 

Mute mountains bare and forests fair; here rivers twisting creep.

This World seems true, the skies are blue; the oceans dark and deep.

I hear the song, a sing-along; bird symphonies that swell.

Does it appear that I am here? I can no longer tell.

 

The trees stretch tall and raindrops fall; bright rainbows arc above.

Just figments these, the mind to ease, with images we love.

What is this flash, this pointless dash, is no one there with me?

Is that devious place, that cryptic space, an illusion that I see?