English: Author's own creation. Oakley Half Wi...My entrance is grand,
suave and sophisticated.
Admiring eyes are drawn;
Crimson cheeks burn;
Beauties cannot resist.

I commend the vintage,
drawing a waiter’s smile.
The technicolor world spins.
Standing firmly in the center,
they seek my company.

Sharp dress and style
radiates confidence.
A smile beckons her.
With trembling fingers,
she takes my hand.

As if on air, we dance,
flying with rhythmic steps.
Warm hands melt her,
turning her friends green.
We parade through the night

I return my angel
and bid them all adieu
to retreat to my abode.
I leave them wanting,
always for more.

In the soundless dark,
rising from the dream,
I wonder, could it be?
Falling back to my pillow,
the illusion fades.


I played a little, by first writing a story where I thought illusion would come into play.  In this case, my protagonist lived the illusion in his mind, only to sorrow at being its victim, in the end.  With my short story complete, I distilled it into this poem.  The technique seemed to work, and I liked how the poem came out, but I’m probably a little close to it.  Comments and suggestions are truly appreciated.

The idea for this poem was sparked by the weekly prompt at Writer’s Digest.


About ewdupler

Gene is an avid outdoorsman, loves reading and is known to put pen to paper (well, he types) as an amateur poet.
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