Illusions are but fairy tales,
Magic dust, cloud filled sails,
Breaths of air from giants’ cheeks,
As little boys climb mountain peaks.
Witches fly on sweeping brooms,
Big green goblins sprawl in tree-root rooms,
Kings and Queens court in mighty spires,
With Princesses saved by lowly squires.
All these tales, we know them well,
In our hearts, our minds, our lives, they dwell,
Until calamity strikes unseen,
Then we forget the boy and bean.
Yet what is life but scene on scene
Of fairies sweet and goblins green?
When we take life so seriously,
Illusions move reality.
What was sweet and felt so good,
Trades places now with a scythe and a hood,
We watch our dreams all chopped and slashed,
Hope slowly fails, in slices dashed.
Until we once again believe
In all the tapestry creation weaves,
Some patterns we feel, others we can’t,
Still illusions and fairy tales enchant.
© Copyright 2015 Robin McShane