Illusionary Illusions

©2015, Olan L. Smith

You think you have me figured out,

See, even this curtain is a deception;

Your Creator is imaginary fractal dusk

Sparkling in the light, and what you cannot see,

Well, that itself would blow you away. You are dust

On the palm of my hand, poof!  I'm gone

You're gone, everything vanishes.  The dub-dub

Of your heart ceases, and we begin again.

You seek me behind many shrouds.

You discern veils were there are none, and

Bow down to worship what you think you know.

You know nothing at all.  You are completely blind;

Your thoughts are muddled, your intellectuals

Chase their tail, while laughing at their dog.