Fantastic Voyage

Walking past my house at night,

A cool visage in grainy light,

A warming glow it emanates,

Warming my shoulder.

The physiognomy of my life

Bears little resemblance

To my experience.

Wayward I roam, away from home,

To lands where only truth is known,

Beyond the pale remembrance of lifeless things

Abandoned in the mists of time.

What were we then, in our prime?

I consider implicit truths,

Philosophized in restaurant booths.

What journeys then may I traverse?

A quotidian life on an empty purse?

Is death the only notable feat,

In this unblinking universe?

If in my dreams I fleetingly glimpse

The many lives I did not lead,

Perhaps I should like to stay asleep.

For in that sleep what dreams may come,

When to these visions I succumb,

Wandering through the lands of not,

And never were,

And shall never be.

For what purpose do they taunt me

In waking hours,

Walking past oppressive towers

Far from my home at night?

Why do these rhymes I write?