So precious illusion my mind must be great,
For to conjure you up kept me working so late,
So perfect in substance, I wish you were real,
My bodies now aching, it’s not a big deal,
...
I'm an artist, I have a BA in photography, I write poems because I can't help it. Some people have told me to try and get them published, I've only just started to let people read them... The words become old in my head, and as I've aged some of the sentimental importance seems to have worn off. It's still difficult to have friends and family read your heart, even when the situations they are reading about are long in the past, I don't think i mind so much complete strangers reading them... and to be quite honest I think i'm looking forward to potential comments. Feel free to criticise as much as you like... as an art student i'm used to it.)
Illusion
So precious illusion my mind must be great,
For to conjure you up kept me working so late,
So perfect in substance, I wish you were real,
My bodies now aching, it’s not a big deal,
I want to be naked and lie next to you,
I need to feel something so I know what to do,
The picture is blissful, the colours so bright,
I need to open my eyes so I can see the light.