Mirages of the Past
A prison made of words and a key made of gold
Is all I have ever known and had to behold
And when from one cell I am taken to another
I find a chance to talk to other fallen brothers
They mention how the Summer sun is warm and the sky pale
That the Autumn leaves are of crimson shades and pile like hay
How the rain in Winter mimics the sorrow in their hearts
And Spring brings life back again to the countryside larks
Yet little did I know why they were there to tell me this
As if waiting for me to be put with them in the broken stasis
How far had I had to go to learn the curious truth
That they were a mirage of me of when I was more than true
As if we meet ourselves again and again till we are at home
Michael Aquilina 07.11.2023