We’ll forget in time
the true deception
of appearance
when silver light dangled
under a secret sky.
Footprints of my former self
washed away
reflections of myself,
known only to myself.
Will I wake some morning
with the daylight of trust
filling til I feel fulfilled
with no mountains
mothering me in their breasts?
In a dream,
I’d awaken with poetry
pouring out of my pores
and never ask for more.
In this reality,
the rain of truth
makes my face cold
and a thousand lovers
cannot warm me.
I trace the difference
between trust and truth.
From the unborn pink sky,
sun slips away
into my eyes.
Misleading weather
turns to deliver tears,
mourning moments
murdered by caution.
For conscious thought cannot
coexist with emotion.
Only the strongest strands
strung together
stay to become our strength.