Reality is a dream:
for a soul in thought.

Life is  a  platitude: 
for a heart in fragments.

Time is a whirlpool:
for a mind in wander.

Love is  a lie:
for a body in wither.

Laughter can be  no medicine
when the wound is the cure,  

Wine is without effect 
when the spirit is asunder.

Of  what use is fate 
to a man in sin ?

Of what need is destiny
 to a dying kin ?

I looked  for an answer
that  Eternity hath writ,  

“The treasure of  your  youth, she said 
lies in the fragments of  your  fate”.

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Poetry

Classic Collection

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