The Illusion

The clear crystal shimmers under the golden streaks,

Warming up, with not a speck of ripple –

A rustle is all that is needed for turbulence to overcome the meek.

The pearly whites shine with ruby coating the outsides,

Warming up, always infecting all around –

The eye belies the emotions on which the smile rides.

A feeling of rapture, exultation and perfection,

Warming up, to a fervor of unmatched intensity –

The trickle of hurt always puts to rest this illusion.