Illusion

it may not be what you think it is

do your eyes deceive, is it slight of pen?

you carry the world in a tin cup

and sprinkle the stars from a garden hose

no one suspects, no one relates the mystery

in the stream of time when blue-collared birds

fly and float on the air, whirl and dive

can you dream? do you suspect?  close your eyes

and envision the magician stepping from the fog

his assistant smiles and steps to the side

but who pulls the puppet’s strings, really?

let it be your imagination, your desire to see

what the world cannot really give you

and, truth be told, it all fades to gray

when the clock strikes three and

the house of cards falls down, down, down

and the rhymes no longer sound in chimes