Having a love affair with my own imagination,
For reality can never live up to dreams;
Dancing every dance with the memory of that image,
Solitude not as lonely as it seems:
For a heart that breaks releases ghosts
Who waltz in wispy trails;
But, although their company is thick,
Still emptiness prevails.

Mood music streams through sequinned seams
Of sweeping ballroom gowns,
But sinister guile drapes every smile
Of this peer group which surrounds
The silent table where I sit,
Haunted by phantoms past
Of love which never came to be,
Or came but could not last.

About Fles

Early middle-aged (oh yes I am!), no longer long-haired but still speccy and decidedly still an increasingly opinionated git. I’m basically a believer in individualism, that everybody has their own perspective and inner-beauty. I try to find humour in every situation. I enjoy reading and writing poetry.
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