Lovely deer,
in a forest wide
prance and play
 like an ocean tide.
one, a buck
one, a doe.
one, in rut
one, in flow.
sea the two
what a find
buck and doe
love defined.

is Life what it seems? will we not know, except it be upon deaths door. eyes, open. lips speak. Ahah, what a filthy wretch i have been! i have wasted my time, it was all for nought. Illusions. i have been part and parley to illusions. what a wretched soul i am. If only i had known i was but a speck in a bugs I, who is itself a string upon a blot.

Time does not exist. illusions again. Yet it is marked with a label. imprisoned with boundaries well-defined. It is now time for this, it is now time for that. we  did fool ourselves into false security. though i mark my time in years, it is still a lie.

love is the alpha and the omega. whom is it, that does not crave it. to posses it. to be possessed by it. that’s all it comes down to. to have it or not.

who does not yearn to be the biggest buck in the forest and get the prettiest doe. but illusions again. look closely. nothing will ever be what it seems. Such is the fate of those who embrace illusion and call it fact. like time, they march to the ticking of their defined clock. and darkened beings are but zombies to illusion.

the doe bows her head. eager anticipation. the buck above the doe stands proud protector. look again. the doe is a buck. head lowered to gore the one who stands tall and unaware. that which paints the picture of serenity was nothing more than false illusions in the eye.  the eye which calls itself into being. then looking upon its creation, declares, this is good.

just like clockwork. predictable and barren. lost in illusion. nothing is as it seems. nothing will ever be.


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