A phantom

celstialtears

Sometimes I ponder
what you are.
A mirage perhaps,
my body starved
from thirst, a mere
hallucination
of the mind.
A phantom, maybe.
My souls need for hope
a self made vision
in a world of dark
shadows kissed
by the crescent
moon.
Or perhaps you’re a
dream, a universal
symbol coated in
star dust, your essence
a mellifluous whisper
from my slumber.
But what are you?
Reality? No.
How can reality
feel this way. My
reality. How can my
reality feel this way,
A fantasy then?
You must be.
A fantasy of love.
Of acceptance.
We were never
meant to be.
Or perhaps,
we are the definition
of serendipity.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image found on pinterest