Delirium

All that I am,
All that I do,
May be is an illusion,
May be its you.
I was never there,
Neither were you,
Neither were they,
Who thought this through.

I found a piece of hope,
in some souls who were true,
who danced with the sun,
and sung with the moon,
but with the morn,
died like the dew.

Where is all this leading,
is it so fluid and flowing?
to be so untrue,
or is it me who seems to wander,
from here and a few.

what is my purpose,
what is my clue,
what is my passion,
is it you?
or is it me who is so blind,
can never see if it was ever so clear,
or blunt or just fine