Its A Pretend Existence Poem by james watkin

It is a pretend existence
With play, escaped into.
Worlds, in bright clouds' keeping
Transparent smiled out through.

Truths hard and harsh, that one's bounce
And lunge is yet earth-worn
From cried out shoe, stone quotes.
Winced jacket, a thorn.

A chill; I flinch. A hand's shadow.
is it Death's? The veil rips.
Its swoop, with grunt attached
In grappling rough, slips

Where all's lewd to listen in on.
Nay; all of sensation
Now reeks. For this is life's
'Grown up' condition.