Erosion of the Mirage

Cascading empty air from hand to hand as if
it is water, see the beads and pellets glitter
in the light, then spill and clatter, shatter,
then coalesce again in some imagined heat.
All the time, it is air, just air, hot air, cold air,
an ache at the back of the throat, dull misgivings
in the front of the mind, a lack of trust
well cloaked in the masquerade of the script.
Right words, right action affirmed aloud, all gone
wrong, in a willing suspension of disbelief;
pretended faith held up high to gleam fervently
where the beam strikes it, obscured in brightness,
and cascading empty from hand to hand.


2 responses to “Erosion of the Mirage

  1. The first part of this reminds me of magical spring in the fairu land of Victoria. But all too quickly something happens to draw the typist back to RL. Very nice choice of words.

  2. Interesting way to look at it. My mental space was much darker when writing it.

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