A dream
One december night he came for me,
witty, deep, with insights darkly teeming,
as I stood in awe - or apathy -,
gazing at my magic mirror, dreaming.
"Take my hand, I'll lead you out of here,
to a world that even gods admire."
Promptly my suspicion made him sneer:
"So let's draw instead on force and fire!"
I agreed (and still I don't know why),
entered realms increasingly infernal,
'til with dread I shivered, stricken by
images of blight and war eternal.
Twisted iron buildings, raging flames,
helicopters violently spinning,
gravity itself had changed the game;
next to me the strange old man was grinning.
"This is but a veil, as you will see,
made up by your troubles, all inflated.
Everything's a veil to some degree,
hiding what has yet to be created."
Then, with just one gesture of his face
he absorbed that hell I deemed immortal,
and I followed, struggling to keep pace,
through the void, towards some kind of portal.
I recall a desert in between:
hostile dunes of fears and wishes granted,
luring though, and hot to the obscene;
thus the strange man sighed and left me stranded.
Every now and then he comes for me,
fated to succumb to my delusion.
Only chance may set this spirit free,
from vanity, enticement, and confusion.
(c) Hellequin