Oasis in the vast wasteland,
inhabited by ungrace.
Walked a hundred miles,
my hope is finally here.
But alas, you were no oasis.
You are but grains of sand,
a sack of it like the many.
I have passed supposed oasis
but am always fooled
by my everyday delusions.
I will never taste your sweet waters
you, my coconuts of my dreams,
wasting though as a sultan
in your very oasis of my dreams
that I am now dreaming of
and might keep on dreaming.
You are like the many oases
the pictures of mere delusions
in my mind scrapbook.
You are one of the dozens,
the suspects of my insanity
whose cure yet unfound.