All I’ve got in this world, so true is this partaking of imagination
Lost in the abnormal traces of life-inkling through the hours,
Some trace of something real within, not quite defined
As I sulk within torn hours, thoughts duly collide
In as much, this grand afternoon I’ll spend in shallow dreams
Meditation, on some form of fashion, I’ll never know,
Do talk with me, fading-flames of life dissipating
For words transform, translucent, real, and pleasing.
