BATTLE OF ILLUSION

Purple, gold and green stardust

flowed from your monologues;

grand in gesture, tone and sight

who’d have ever guessed your plight.

Lost in soul waking trance movement,

no dance floor hoped to keep up;

history, food, politics and art

stayed well centered in your heart.

They say only the good die young;

no, I saw you at thirty, forty and fifty

one with the wisdom of moonlight,

seeing through the dark night.