William Shakespeare

Animation Illusion

Oh, gentle muse, thou art a sprite of light, In realms where form and shadow dance as one, Art thou but a semblance, or dost thou possess The noble heart of life, that beats within? In yonder flick'ring frames where images conspire, What treachery dost thou weave ‘neath thine embrace? In every stroke of brush, a tale doth rise, Yet art thou truth or merely facsimile? To grasp at thine ephemeral delight, We sip from goblets filled with dazzling dreams, Yet know not, dear illusion, the cost of thy thrill. For in thy beauteous guise dost lurk the specter, A trickster’s jest, ensna'red in this luminous web, Doth our gaze hold firm, or falter in thy charm? As puppets swayed by strings unseen, we glide, Caught in the mirage of delight and woe, Where laughter melds with sorrow, fast entwined, And in such fleeting moments, truth must bow. Perchance, the art of thine own craft’s deceit Provokes an intellect profound and rare, For by thy artful hand do we confront The very nature of existence, fair; We ponder, what is life but colored light, An endless pageant where we play our parts, Moving in a dance of hope and despair, Each onset of the dawn, a fresh start. Thus, in this grand display of light and shade, Let us not spurn the lessons thou impart, For in the masquerade, our souls are laid— A reflection of the heart’s concealed art.