A fantastic flight of fancy
in a world of greys and blues,
soaring on the wings of chance, I
flee from bleak and hungry hues.
Cleopatra had her cobra
and Ophelia her stream
I shall merely sit, observing,
as my life rips at its seams.
Like a Lear of modern ages
doubting his identity
on display: regret, forgiveness
with a child's simplicity.
And the void remains awaiting,
my departure is foretold.
As I tread the dreaded pathway
birds will sing: "Be bold, be bold!"
Glass-entombed in lonely quarters
people watch but do not see,
lentils thus remain in ashes
sleeping an eternity.













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