you will know when you are being played
how you handle it is what counts
-to keep peace with your soul
ask the Master what they would do
and do likewise my child.

~
In the mist of late night solitude,
                 from a mislaid plateau,
                 with a suitcase full of sparks

She observes constellations
        reflected as little needy eyes,
                        peering down at her

They could be midnight directives,
       postcards from distant nebula
                            suspended in gaffa

       "Ne t'enfuis pas..." She exhales

Still she wonders:

        will her children grow to love
          their perfect machines more
                                    than they love
                  their imperfect mother?
~

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

The man said nothing is real

While making a sweeping gesture with his right hand
It's a simulation he says, all of it, nothing is real

I remember as a kid singing row row your boat
Reminding me to be happy because life is a dream

Again the man states while gesturing, nothing is real
Strawberry Fields, nothing is real, nothing to get hung-up about

The Hindu call it Maya, all an illusion, nothing is real

Science gods working toward virtual reality
Where we can't tell simulation from life, nothing is real

thy
heart seeks
a lantern
to
follow
thy
faith
and
be cleansed
by
the sunlight

His broken heart was a kaleidoscope,
Through which he still saw his love as colourful with possibilities.
8/9/2021