An illusion: A poem 

I am feeling wells in every pore 

The lyrics fitting to the score 

And though my fingers are numb with the season, 

my soul is warm to an illusion 

The letters drop from my page to the ground 

And like falling leaves make no sound 

But I hear their scratch in my mind 

And they are nimble as they reboot and rewind 

I pick at them like a plateful of relished morsels 

And they roll and rise, and ring like bells 

They are soft whispers, but potent like magic spells 

And the illusion cracks open like eggshells 

No one is aware of my unread letters and words 

They crowd my garden like a multitude of birds 

I peer into the mirror, and feel the illusion 

seize my body, mind and soul with a binding passion