Blessed Unreality
© Candice James
A sudden shiver, an abrupt pain,
an awakening to a new circumstance,
an empty glass awaiting fulfillment
followed by the tinkling of crushed ice
against the sides of the cut-crystal tumbler.
I trace my bluish-purple raised veins
through the pathways of my life
at the tide of its lowest ebb
as the eye in my mind slowly closes.
I stumble over the cliff
of one of memory's hidden scars;
the residue of a war lost
that recalls it as a victory.
It slowly slip-slides away
on a film of deception
and I choose to believe it's true
as I forge the delusion in fire.
I conjure up a brand-new image,
beyond imagination,
and imagine it to be true.
This is a moment, an hour,
a week, month and a year
in the life of a poet
walking the tangled wire
on her coveted path
of blessed unreality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ma'am this is rhasphody. Indeed a poet's inner mind covets for this blessed unreality. So well captured in the metaphorical muse. Thank-you ma'am.