Drife (when dreams and life become identical)

Life is fancy

When life becomes the dream.

Deja vu,

I’ve been here;

Jamais vu,

Not so clear.

The smell smells like a dream,

But never have I smelled it in Real.

Yet, what is the Real?

It felt bizarre

When things got nearer and nearer.

The mirage was no longer far.

Now, you are to mix things:

When the deer, instead, sings,

And the bird is now: used to be caught,

Turns into a hind ‘who’ is chased.

Brown eyes like a vampire’s

Golden, hypnotizes,

But the melody is familiar.

People look,

People hover,

They laugh,

They giggle,

They notice not

The killer.

Whatever is meant sometime becomes;

Within their eyes the lies lie;

They close them real wide.

Behind glasses, they hide,

Behind the masks of the mind.

I looked real close, real hard,

Tried to see what lies behind.

I screamed;

I was petrified.

An awful face,

There was.

“How ugly!” I thought.

Then moved the wall;

I was speechless,


I knew that face,

The mask was gone.

I, at last, dropped the mask

At least, for awhile.


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