An Illusion to the Temporary Real

Chagrined, I lie ensconced between the dreaming and the dead Let my eyes perceive degrees and not directions For the sanguine expectations that embellished prior years Are the fervent hopes now lost in imperfections The emaciated soul seeks to concep

Immutable, in mists of gold beyond this Acheron How grandiose the touch will be when each caress is gone How bitter rests bereavement on the souls of those bereaved Funereal our lust, through an eternity conceived This grim fa§ade of misery we never