Sunday, November 06, 2011


You seemed in your stillness
to be as fragile as an empty shell.
I become accustomed
to the new limits
and limits define
everything once again.

We are illusions
of what is mortal,
The world is the illusion
of what could be.
The stage is an illusion
of what is real
is a big theatre

© Diana Mistera somewhere in 2005 from my first anthology WINGLESS
Post a Comment