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Poems about Illusion

Do I have a choice in the matter?
I ask myself as I scurry about
As mad as a hatter.
Oh here’s missus so and so
Coming out for a natter.
Her name escapes me,
As I don’t seem to have,
Any choice in the matter
But to stop my work
And listen.

Just the same as,
I’ve no choice in the matter,
But to pay the council tax.
Or the Electric bill.
Or gas bill, for that matter.

The list of things go on and on.
Such as dying.
Who surrounds you,
Neighbours good or bad.
People say there is plenty
Of choice in the matter,
But that is just an illusion.

 I see them lurking in the streets,
Hiding their smile in surgical sheets,
They feel so puzzled, around their muscles,
Which back in the day would make them chuckle.

When will they show it?
When are they free?
Where is their vision?
What will they be?

I see down under, not in their face,
Progress has changed us; the aim is a maze.
Paper now rotten, typeface now button,
Faster the world, but passion’s forgotten.

When will we turn back?
When are we free?
Where is our vision?
What will we be?

I see my output, turn back to the green,
Moving just forward, run till I lean,
Back next to trunk, sheet off – see – I breathe!
Calm, roots and peace, no global disease.

When will I see it?
When am I free?
Where is my vision?
What will I be?

I see a sparrow, guiding my view,
Up to the limits, until I see you!
Taking my paper, type down what I feel:
No burden, no limits, yet purity’s chamber, reaching surreal!

Now I can see it!
Now I am free!
Look, here’s my vision!
Reinforced in thee!