The have naught, ebb
With life a tragedy,
Trapped in a web
Of apathetic reality,
Man will so scheme
Endemic of betrayal,
To attain his means…
Ergo haves, we may agree
Live pithily said comedy,
For they especially
Of careless objectivity,
Destine their domain
In animate fantasy,
Suffering not inequity
The while feign humane!
Poetry on a canapé 
A rhapsody in …blues..this poem !
The very essence as well as pleasures of poetry, is like that of an abstract painting… one can read what he or she feels and give it more or less their interpretation. As I too can obviously interpret your comment from two distinct perspectives. Nice play on my words, my dear… Jean-Jacques
And so we sleep in this fantasy dream we call reality. Reminds me of Shakespeare’s Life’s a stage… Happy weekend to you, Marianne and your fur babies.
Or awake and experience the confusion of man’s reality that is too often hard to endure. Maybe sleeping in that fantasy dream we call reality is a safety valve to stay alive for what is good for the soul. Like what you do for your fellow furry creatures be a fine example. And a happy weekend to you all as well! Jean-Jacques