Confrontations
 
Me with my illusionary shifting sands
My truth tailored to my own size
My hopes relinquished, my fantasies abound
Like the old dying and the new come rising
 
Reality is a stubborn old mule
Keeper of its own mind and body
The proud oak tree that stood its ground
Against the teeth of the raging tempest
 
Reality, a blend of sweet and bitter
A scaffold rising to the heights of life
Of lofted cathedrals, touching the firmament
Or descending roots passing through wicked portals
 
But as today gathers up its building blocks
Of whatever yesterday made it to be
The cruel hands of time bring us together
My sweaty palms and reality’s arms of steel
 
In horror I see what my dreams covered up
The bitterness sweetened by my delusive tears
But life proceeds with the good and the bad
My future faced by my dreaded confrontations
But what must be is what it is

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