What is illusion? (a poem)

I’ll be happy to make it to 60,
will probably be here sooner than I expect
but isn’t everything
is this my illusion?
that I will be an artist,
a successful one.
I don’t know if I can let it go
is all of life just an illusion?
this whole damn thing?
will I wake up somewhere,
saying “what a strange dream”
or maybe as some tiny piece of a massive cosmic force
all memories fading
my entire life but a speck
are these just dreams I'm living
maybe nightmares, but nonetheless,
simple illusions
deceptions
of a non-linear time
appearing straight
like flat land on a curved earth
a straight horizon
am I just too small to see otherwise
the sun doesn’t rise
or set
but I watch it everyday
day after day
transfixed
the ordinary seems miraculous for a few moments
then it’s gone
a small dot moving across the sky
but it’s really the rotation of the earth
a nuclear fireball in the distance
seen from different angles
through an atmosphere
far more complex than simply a little ball moving
What more is out there?
what more are we yet to understand?
the mystical becomes ordinary
the ordinary just a dream
and so I sleep
restless nights
wondering
but all I can think of is you...