the world
moves to the sound of the fantasy.
intelligent beings
chained to this tick, barely
audible.. still in control..
still directing the action
on the field. hard in forced 
confinement.. prime in the dark
when anything goes.. accepted as real, 
with a mysterious past. 
spoken of frequently.. rarely understood. 
how is illusion to be comprehended? 
by its lack of reality, or the 
reality of its consequence..? 
the fiction or the depiction.? 
it has gone on long enough.. who can stop it? 
maybe we need the fantasy to 
feel real. something 
to chain our existence..
provide a sense of control over the 
inevitable.. a reality management device,
how useful.. 
the ultimate goal, is still to be 
fruitful, 
multiply, 
die.. be late to your funeral...
in death, still bound by the illusion..
biding time…