Fourth Diary

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends. (Act v. Scene i.)

A Midsummer Night's Dream, William Shakespeare

I want Love to be there for everyone who needs it.
I wish I could remote-control it on
so that we all could just see it right in front of our eyes when we want it.
Only if it wasn't so transparent like the love juice Puck played with.
We do have to play along its trick to find it out.
Do we want to be tricked, into this world of dream and fantasies.
Do we want to get lost quite willingly, and to be manipulated,
and voluntarily disillusioned and find pleasure.
We folllow the liquid of it all to find out who our true lovers are because.
It's like it's there,
but we can't quite grasp the wonder of it.
The "shadow" of me unwillingly yields to the Clay.
This Clay, battles without power possibily (and willingly) resists to comprehend
the questions inside.
Deep inside, deep deep inside in airy space mends the killing of it all.
Deep inside.
What is dying, you tell me.

Is it just me,
or are we all just afraid to close our eyes
and feel that dripping  juice swirling all over us.
Don't tell me we're too old for love songs 
because I know a Spirit who still lives after a decade
and manages to remain in the dream of it all.