Charades

by: Pam Parisi

Are hallucinations angels playing at charades?

Mere angelic idylls with clouds for leafy glades?

Are the messages not humble so elaborately sent,

Are they personal or global in their intricate intent?

Are these visions made specific, made especially for me,

Or are they meant for all of us, but only I can see?

Do the passions of these spirits visually manifest

To send my mind to thinking or my body on some quest?

Or are they simply sent to me as art to entertain,

As toys for me to play with, or puzzles for my brain?

I think that I must miss the point more often than I know,

And these evangelic mimers must think that I am slow.

I have come to like these specters which intrude

Upon my waking moments, as a lucid interlude

To reality's distractions from song of muse and soul,

And I welcome apparitions, in general as a whole.

There is a depth now to my life to have this private part,

Viewed and for my viewing only, angelic visual art.

Brief beauty, as a snowflake, or bizarre ephemeral jest,

Each sight and sound and odor puts my judgement to the test,

No matter what the vision be, I know it's not reality,

As startling as the subject can be, its sent with geniality.

Charades, messages or art, filled with meaning, mystical or none

My hallucinations at the very least are fun.

I can not doubt my sanity, on reality my grasp is firm,

So I must view these incidents under some other term

Than those which our society would have me utilize.

Charades they are, from angels, or so I must surmise.