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Poem

Yes, I know, it is all an illusion
The way my sun-like eyes see:
For these glasses paint in gold
The wreckage and ruin around me.
This may be the wrong way
To live my sorry life
Finding golden glimmers even as
I hold a glinting knife,
But the world that I see
Whenever I try to see what's real:
It is broken, dreary, dead,
Much I like how I feel
Whenever I wind up lost
In my supposed paradise
But find that my dreams have
Been devoured by demon lies
And realize that however hard I try
I'll never be able to redeem
The idyllic joy that once lay in
Every single one of my dreams.
So with my counterfeit view
Of this miserable land
At least, somehow, I can see
A kingdom so sunshine grand,
And at least, as I walk towards
The cliffs from where I shall die,
My last sight is the eternal proof
Of my beautiful lie---

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