the strange dream world the young and old sees,

the strange dream world the young and old sees,

the phantom of inccubi and succubi, of nymphs, aegipans and satyrs

what if they all exist, in actuality, in literal sense

but in the infinitely distant past or equally distant future

that the only thing that prevents thy entry into cloud-cuckoo neverland is the decay of thy own flesh?

try as thou might, extending your solid body each day and night to

more protracted regions and expanses of shade.

it cannot envelop the entirety of human history,

and the length between birth and death, though not boundary,

but at the end a container even for thy spilt contents.

and the strange dream world one sees exists in physical actuality,

beyond this and that shore of birth and death,

losing hope to grasp the phantoms escaping into either,

thou hast chosen to be literary instead of literal.

and each painful allegory tells human's restless shame.