note: obviously not written by me (too good!). guess where it’s from!

There must have been moments
even that afternoon
when she tumbled short
of his dreams –
not through her own fault,
but because of the colossal vitality
of his illusion.

He had thrown himself
into the illusion
with a creative passion,
adding to it all the time,
decking it out
with every bright feather
that drifted his way.

No amount of fire or freshness
can challenge
what a man will store up
in his ghostly heart.