It seems as if
Every moment
Every memory
Is that of
From a destiny
That never unfolded
An arduous task
A soft touch
Of melancholy
Waiting for
Those precious moments
That never come


Can you sometimes
In a voice
Find a string of melody
Colourful wind
And mysterious meaning
All coming together
Without a master
Like children
Playing together
But never seeing each other

For my plague

I become stagnant
I resolve nothing
And cast no shape
Into the void of the world

I, destitute and unmoving
Happen to stop
At tiny

For the new evil

I have always found
Things I yearn to do
In the hyperreal
Magical fantasy
Of my own little world

Constructed out of
The things that cannot happen
The things that do not
Cross our minds
At the right time

Have I found this
And lost a great deal
Whereas to put this hyperreal
In reality
Is truth