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Fantasy
Taking time out froum our busy life
my lover and me
step into my room.
You ask for tea.
We sit, worlds apart, politely pretending
not to notice each other.
You take a sip, and stare at something.
We sit, me and my lover.
Your beautiful soul
shines through your sad eyes,
mirroring mine--broken.
Why are you here, inside?
Is it because the world out there
is so damn cold and empty?
I know how you feel;
you can trust me.
Everyone out there
moves so fast; too fast.
In a blink of your sad eye,
they've gone right past.
They don't
see you.
Don't care.
But I do.
Life is like that. Goes so fast,
even though all you want to do
is slow down.
Walk at a pace that fits you.
Watch other people.
Take in all the sights to see.
Smell the roses.
Make memories and stories with me.
You have the
same questions as I:
Why are we all racing to get there?
Why?
To get to the end first?
But the end means death; to die.
And people are so scared of it; so scared.
Why go so fast, then? Why?
So fast that you can't stop to see
that boy swinging.
Or that girl playing
and having fun singing.
Can't appreciate that garden,
or marvel at buildings that reach the sky.
Can't even hear your own thoughts.
Or make memories; you and I.
Can't stop to fantasize.
Fantasy
could be better
than reality.
Give it a try. I know there's a difference.
There's a line between the two.
I can see it if I look hard.
But I choose not to.
Why? Because, here,
in this quiet place,
with you,
and your pensive face
is the closest
I ever want to be
to that thing
called reality.
So why race? Why speed?
If you are so scared of the end?
I am not. I welcome death.
Embrace it like an old friend.
I welcome the blood,
slipping from my skin freely,
leaving it an apple-white pale.
I can't wait for it to come to me.
I welcome the glassy stare.
Worms tickling my nose--soft, slimy, and gritty--
as the dirt tucks me in for an eternal sleep;
the final escape from reality.
But you seem so scared. Scared of the end.
Scared of leaving. Scared of good-byes.
Scared of everything.
I can see the hurt and fear in your eyes.
Your tea is done, you stand to leave;
tip your hat, shoot me a smile--
a smile I have perfected, myself,
after a long while.
A smile I give to others
to let them know it's okay
when it's not. So I know that smile;
I live with it everyday.
You stand to leave my room,
pausing by the door.
It's half-way open, and you have
one foot out; you aren't sure.
You look out there,
at that cold outside,
thinking about your busy life.
And maybe thinking about inside.
I smile at you,
invite you back in.
Just imagine all that fantasizing
we could begin.
I can make
all that fear,
all that pain
disappear.
I'll do all of that
and more.
So come back over here.
And close that door.
And stay awhile.
Stay with me.
Fantasy is much better
than reality.
**one of my very first poems. soooo old. you can tell, because the syllables/rhyme scheme is pretty much crap**
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