Here I am, disenchanted. With eyes
Blinded by the realities of life, living
The edge of a knife, leaving the
Libido of youthfulness, striving
Toward usefulness.

Here I am, alone in the world
Of comforting illusions.
Delusions of beauty and spectacles,
Mind like receptacle of a past
Frozen beneath the wings of time.

Rhyme and rhythm of pulse,
Of devoted and daring heart.
There you are, still, writing the
Poem of life, dispersed by the prism
Of time, dancing its rhythm and rhyme.