Are you real?
I'm afraid that you're the product of my fevered reveries
Though I could never conjure such perfection
In form and nobility of mind.
Are you real?
It's been so long since I've known such a dream
Of a angel, with
All the elven mischief of an April afternoon.
Are you real?
I am sure that if I touched you, you'd just melt away
Like the morning mist in the hills and the valleys
A lovely vision of what life ought to be.
Are you real?
I ask this question to the starlight
Which seems reflect in your midnight eyes
Are you real?
Is this face which is so suddenly
Familiar to me as my own
Truly there?
And if you are....
Am I real to you?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like the concept of your poem, I guess the only answer is the only things that are real are those that affect us.