The Liar Still

Whose twisted pangs of jealousy for those joyous echoes assaulting me,

now swiftly and maddeningly receding from my grasp.

For families, who remain unbroken,

for the shiny dreams undream’t,
I search in vain for that magic that forms the bonds unshaken,

And yet?

Their small faces drawn and hollow eyes downcast,

treasured cherubs ‘ever despoil’t by my cowardice.

Doors unopened to woodland paths untrodden, for bonds were shook and found a’wanting

and my unripe fruit now scatterered ‘bout and rotting on the floor.

And what of love you darkly mutter, there's none who’ll listen any longer,

For from the shadow’s you’ll answer back, that’s only for them who knows what’s first,

it’s truth, not you, you're lie, you’re wanting still.

Not now, that knight in burnish’d armor,

once their father, now that liar,

In whose eyes you'll receed ever smaller.


© 2008 Renée Thomas all rights reserved