A surplus of lies.

-

 Wherein do lies blossom?

In the hearts of man?

Or the mouth of a woman scorned?

Wherein do lies rest

And harken, no longer?


Like the sunlight that shines

upon a castle.

It will never reach the darkness

of the larder.

Or the heart of a sorrowful martyr.


Lest we heed the words of our brothers.

Reach for the sun a little harder.

And forget the taste of past lovers.


Wherein does misery make its bed?

Abruptly inside the heart? Her absence

should not bother.

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