i find the happiest times are spent in the fantasy-

bringing desire to life,

then putting her back to rest-

and yes, i have dreamt of life with love:

but when love came, i was seldom awake-

and now the whole of life feels like a dream to me;

so i often speak unto my subconscious

asking him “why do you always remember something that’s not there,

and why are you always missing someone who was never here?”

“does the heart always play tricks on the mind?”

yes:

i’m finding that the heart is a magician 

and the mind is a jester-

habitually playing the fool-

yes,

i am finding that love was mine,

and yet has never been mine-

as my only possession is a created illusion;

the heart’s deception-

and yes,

i’m finding that i can never dream away regret:

the wasted time is always there:

wasting,

wearing away the present and the future without needing a command,

leaving you to be engulfed in an ignorant stupor-

and so, all you do is comply with its happening

while it happens.

so, life happens,

as will love:

love, like everything else

will happen without you ever knowing,

and only in your 11th hour- while you breathe in the closing-

will you awaken from the dream,

only to pass into the next one,

and find there to be no reality.