Pursue
I followed my heart, but it told me lies
nor could I put trust in my own two eyes;
reality names itself in some new guise,
each promising its more elusive prize.
Yet when I pursued the fools’ gold that gleamed
along some lost border of dreams left undreamed,
naught ever turned out to be as it once seemed;
all offered in hostage remains unredeemed.
Too easily have I been oft misled
by those empty words I myself have said,
as I set illusions to dance in my head —
pursuing tomorrow as it ever fled.
Stephen Brooke ©2024
More an exercise in language than in meaning, perhaps.
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