ILLUSION

Tell a tale
In thy
Recital of woes:
Never will Stars
Sit in your lap, or
The Sun will
Beam your opulence.
The broken
Pieces of
Celestial top
Will enter
The circumference, of
Your zone.
It will slip-pass
Your deeds
On pages of void,
That your
Immortal soul
Has taken
A passport
To a country
Of yore.
Only the
Twinkle of eyes
Remains in a
Nod of blink;
It will wink
An illusion
In a touch
Of divine thought.