It is fitting
This poem comes
On D-Day
As she storms
This beach
With frightful
Indignation,
Until I wave
A flag of truce,
No need to engage
Though the feel of
What she says
Seems too real
To ignore,
You don’t get
Premonitions
You ignore them,
The gods giving
Us omens
So we might
Turn back,
Modify our behavior
Before we
Stumble over
The edge of
The abyss,
But I am always
Pulled along
By the string
Of my own
Imagination,
Blinded by some
Mistaken vision,
Plato’s shadows
I’m not wise enough
To recognize as
Illusion,
Or smart enough
To flee the cave,
If there is a cliff
To fall off,
I fall off of it,
Deceived by my
Own imagination,
Destined to paly
The fool in a court
Where there are no
Kings or queens,
Only fools like me,
Or perhaps,
It is not shadows
I see after all
But reflections
Of myself,
Always unable
To tell
The real from
The unreal.
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