Poet's Dream

He wants you long sighted,
To pull the words close,
To see only dreams;

Or the Magi,
captivating you in his moment,
proud of his mystery.

He is the other face on a trick coin.
Only thing you did not know.
So he plays his cards,
Pining for a bucket of fame.

Is it heads?
Is it then tails?
The only truth is:
Both are lies.

No sooner do you fathom,
He reinvents reality,
And denies his former creed.

He is the floater in your cornea,
the Mirage,
Effectively agreeing to be
a poultice to your scars.