poem

Illusions

A fool on a whispering hill
that spills fairy tales of love.
With the power of my will,
I must release this propaganda dove.
Jumbled images deceive me.
I don't want to get too deep
Or should I let it be?
Pretending not to see,
in the lonely company of midnight,
that you do groove me.
Is there someone to be revealed as my knight?
But there are no more such tales in me.
Make these lies true.
Twist them instead,
I ask of you.
But, still I know chiviary is dead.

(2003-age:25)