The Search - Poem by michele franz

He was an illusion.
Sketched and refitted,
Ignored and cross examined,
But no more than an illusion.
Half made up,
An imagined virtue of my own.
Counterfeited to fulfill
A distraction to an obscure riddle
Of the heart.
He was a victim of impatience,
Lured by my hunger, and
Discarded like the joker in solitaire.
He was the piece of the puzzle
I thought I was missing,
But realized it never did fit.
He was the four leaf clover
You spent hours to find,
But in the end,
You had to tear a leaf to make it four.