lost illusions

a washed clean doorstop
danger’s just passed.
now bags packed
seasons have changed

quick glances exchanged
nervous, and breathing deeply,
limo is here
climb in and
shut the door

Transitory travel
which all of life endures
momentary glimpses of light
behind the many doors

we can only describe our hearts,
or the blood of our dreams
when our souls are old enough to skry
beyond our illusions


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