Saturday puzzle

The simple things in life deceive me

into thinking they're my all:

salvation in a cup of tea,

happiness from a distant smile,

creation dwelling in an old pen.

But this lie has slowly become

a truth of undeniable ground-

for what am I without

my love of the ephemeral?

I live through roses,pages,strangers

and long forgotten stars,

nuances of the sky,stray beings

and man-made miracles.

There's a distinct chamber of my heart

that feasts upon not blood,

but pieces of the past-

what is more certain than

the tattoo of time itself?

Though many pieces don't fit this puzzle

anymore,I don't fear darkness

or my own oblivion-

rather than a single sheet,

my soul has turned into a book

of endorphins and sorrow,

all mixed up into the conception

of my imperfect revelation.