If my past is a fiction, and my present a dream,
my future could be anything.
If my past is a dream, and my present its awakening,
the future has much to explain —
And that much must be little,
if it means what it seems.
Such is the play.
Such is the scene.
To write is to be written.
To speak is to sing.
Where the mind fails, I improvise.
And when the light fades, my dark comes — listening.
[ 666 ]
Categories: New Poems & Pieces