Real and Unreal.

Only what was, no longer is, is real.
He lies, unheard, unseen forever more.
What is, that was yet is no more, unreal.

His life, so precious, Death was moved to steal.
And now he's locked behind the wooden door.
Only what was, no longer is, is real.

The good intentioned ones repeat the spiel,
regurgitated endlessly like lore.
What is, that was yet is no more, unreal.

That Time's great medicines will start to heal.
And Douse the flames, the burns eternal, sore.
Only what was, no longer is, is real.

So tight-secured, the weight of earth's his seal.
He's slowly stripped of self down to his core.
What is, that was yet is no more, unreal.

So long as this holds true, I'm crushed to kneel,
for all he is has gone, and left no spore.
Only what was, no longer is, is real.
What is, that was yet is no more, unreal.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos