Here in the land of metaphor,

A place to visit when life is more

Than solitary soul can stand

To soldier on across the sand,

It carries no strings, no expectations

No wishes, no hopes, no worn sensations,

No journeys down a broken road

Or notions of things that ill forebode,

But nonetheless a space where dreams

May flower alone in wanton streams

Of thoughts once caught and then set free,

Where lonely heart, too blind to see,

Escapes once more to fantasy

(Mere faerie tale of ecstasy)

No lover’s touch

 No healing kiss

Reality bites

There is no bliss

copyright r.b.franklin 21/10/06

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