A Ballad on Illusions

When illusions turn into pollutions -
Memories occluded, love is trapped;
Ludicrous – this silence; how clueless
Was the poet – thus it would unravel.

Looking for solutions or allusions?
Poet’s magic? Practical results?
All solutions – futile and gluey,
And allusions? – Empty rhyming sorrow.

Oh, but wait! Who am I? Just the “bestest”
Of magicians, poets, even gods.
Is my quill not potent most, or fastest?
Universe, surrender! Or – en garde!

All it takes to see her loving smile
And to pierce the fog and touch her heart
Is the best this world has had on file,
Most inspiring work of love and art.

Oh, to hell with “world” – the best in any
Galaxy or Universe, to wit.
So magical, unreal and uncanny
It would swiftly conquer, pierce and win.

When illusions turn into occlusions,
When it seems her grace is gone and lost,
Pass on tears and excuses; blues are loony,
Why go whining, wining, pining for your loss?

All it takes – an arrow so potent:
Love, and art, and postulate combined;
An illusion made of action, poetry,
Best of art that sighs and rhymes can buy.

It’s indelible – that love of hers, it’s there;
It existed, is, and will exist.
Won her, lost her, won again – it’s fair.
Not to win – the only real sin.

So, this magic gem of art to end all magic,
How shall it be and made of what?
Fancy? Philosophical? Or tragic?
Win the Oscars? Grammies? All awards?

It will satisfy forever the insatiable,
It will speak to waves, and elves, and trees;
It’s for her: so patiently impatient,
My companion in evening conversation, -
Leaving far below the realm of reason.

It dispels the upsets and the treasons;
In a sultry desert unabashedly
Sings to her – so full of love and fashion;
Born to bring us back the truth and pleasure:
From the sea, a cool and gentle breeze…


Daniel Sofre