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To escape world’s relentless strain,
From life’s cycle, to epic refrain,
Wander with Homer’s visionary eye,
Where Sappho’s verses lie.

A young man, burdened by false mirth,
Packed his bags and left the earth,
Seven mountains, four seasons he’d chart,
Poseidon’s wrath could not deter his heart.

The sun glinted in his disillusioned gaze,
Along the shore, in a quiet haze.
All he owned had vanished, all joy had fled,
Alone he stood, on a wild island instead.

In the heart of an atoll’s embrace,
An ethereal garden, a sacred place,
A nymph appeared, clothed in light,
Dancing ‘neath flowers, pure and bright.

He stepped beyond his wildest dream,
Into this realm, where hopes would gleam.
A paradise where joy reigned supreme,
Tranquility and freedom, a perfect scheme.

The garden, lush as Eden’s bower,
Grew around him, sweet with power.
Zephyrs kissed his broken soul,
And mended him, once lost, now whole.

Streams whispered soft lullabies,
Colorful butterflies graced the skies.
The nymph, her face a gentle beam,
Like Annabelle, she made him dream.

“Oh, this emblem, so lost, so pure,
Must be Annabelle, I’m sure.
If only she believed in what I see,
Annabelle, my love, eternally.”

His heart leapt as she drew near,
Her glossy hair swayed in the air.
At last, she stood, her gaze alight,
And kissed him deeply, in the moonlit night.

They ran together to hills of yearning,
Like Romeo and Juliet, hearts burning.
The young man’s sorrow, now set free,
In her embrace, he found his glee.

He’d found Annabelle in the garden wild,
Wondering, “How could this be, my child?”
Staring at her, his heart would plead,
"Why are you here, and not in my need?"

Her house, a vision of perfection’s grace,
Immaculate beauty, a tender space.
She held his hand, led him to her attic,
Where the world’s harshness seemed so static.

Tears welled in his eyes, soft and slow,
He feared this moment, soon to go.
Turning to the flowerbed she had grown,
Begged her, “Let me live here, and call this home.”

But as the morning’s light began to break,
His dream unraveled, his heart did shake.
Annabelle, now gone, vanished in the air,
No trace of her, not even a single prayer.

Alone once more, amidst the dawn,
He searched for her, but she was gone.
No garden, no nymph, no world of grace,
Just the empty, vast, unfeeling space.

Living in illusion, in fantasy's reign,
Is a fleeting dream, a boundless chain.
Escape from falsehood, illusions we weave,
Seek the love that God gives, to believe.
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