In a moment of sheer and extraordinary bliss
I like to think the world doesn't exist
but the world is a constant; it never is not
and bliss fades into obscurity.
Hunched and bunched like the defeated
it haunts on all fours the chambers of mind
and gains sustenance from imaginative feasts
placed on a platter of memories.
But the platter once gold is dull, uninspired,
and bliss looks on with lack-lustre eyes
but it knows to eat from fantasy's store
to validate all that was long before.
Though gone is all that was long before
bliss cannot be amongst the ignored
so it rises up into attack mode
and gathers the minds of those so inclined
to believe in its mystical powers.
But this in sleep and I'm not aware
and, yes, I lie, because I'm of the world!