The Irony Of Convergence

Poem By ImAn Altruist

It was a choice of facility,
to either pick dreams or reality.

I dither, I flinch, I sigh
at last for no good reason choose reality, aye.

With reality I walk headlong-blind and bare
in roads with legions, to a neverland lair.

A place we take, furnished with ramparts,
where souls barter with cakes and tarts.

Then a charade of breeze blows into a street,
there smiles bloom ensconced with deceit.

There I meet the votaries abounding,
one hushing one thousand blaring.

We harrumph and trot to junction yonder,
where they say all meet-roads, strait and slender.

We skip, we sramble but mount with gall,
to scale the place, they call-white knoll.

And when we plonk-in blood, in gore
We see the others come ashore

Haggard and blue, beaten to rims,
They come limping, ones who chose dreams.

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