Surreal this Feeling (Inspired by Ronald Isley: “Supposed to Do”)

So surreal this feeling: pass on by, love. It was never our place:

A fancy to gaze the waters. Ah, the viola, a bouquet of love.

But such the masquerade, an aphrodisiac. And render, my love:

Render a vision. For I’m lost, adrift—a mystic lamp; and my

Antenna’s fuzzy. So surreal this feeling: pass on by, love: but

Never pass on by, love. Indeed, pause, my love: paint a fairytale.

For every diamond, as sacred as fire; and every woman, as

Solemn as Shiloh. But life, the downhearted—a tear, my love;

And life, the disloyal—unafraid, my love. Thus, the joy, dearly

Abated; and thus, the soul, overlaid. But so surreal this feeling:

Pass on by, love: but never pass on by, love. In fact, light a

Candle, my searching paradise: infuse a lamp. For hindsight

Wails—something sweet; and foresight wails—something

Poison. Indeed, it’s so surreal this feeling: pass on by, love.