moves to the sound of the fantasy.
chained to this tick, barely
audible.. still in control..
still directing the action
on the field. hard in forced
confinement.. prime in the dark
when anything goes.. accepted as real,
with a mysterious past.
spoken of frequently.. rarely understood.
how is illusion to be comprehended?
by its lack of reality, or the
reality of its consequence..?
the fiction or the depiction.?
it has gone on long enough.. who can stop it?
maybe we need the fantasy to
feel real. something
to chain our existence..
provide a sense of control over the
inevitable.. a reality management device,
the ultimate goal, is still to be
die.. be late to your funeral...
in death, still bound by the illusion..