If I close my eyes, I can see you standing there
If I open them, you're gone.
Ah, mystery of imagination
The cold, waking dawn;
The heart that waits,
That fitfully longs, sighs, flutters
In varied emotional states.
Now that I know that it works that way
Let me close my eyes: let me believe
Utterly in phantasmagorical reason;
There is yet time enough to grieve.
When I wake; when I realise
That this fantasy was just a tissue of lies.
Copyright: Rani Turton
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem