Such is Life, I suppose.
An imaginative “near-death”.
A strange alchemy,
beyond Art.
Between gilded frames
You and I come to life.
Can this mean we must end where we start?
Still I mean you no harm,
but what side am I on?
Transfixed by our own precious charm.
maybe clever enough “to see”
I fear,
just not ever enough “to be”,
my dear.