November 13, 2012 by phicks2012
The heart is desperate to believe, that friendship can be true;
That love we hunger to receive, will come when it is due.
The soul that fallow lies today, we trust will blossom yet;
That hopeful seeds sewn yesterday, tomorrow won’t forget.
And yet we watch them walk away, those friends our hopes made true,
And lovers promise worlds, and stray before our dreams come due.
They wound our lives, because they may, and do not understand
That hearts they easily betray the pain may not withstand.
The blow that’s dealt at dawn my heal, and seem entirely so.
The outer wound we know may seal, until it does not show.
But one may see it bleed anew, more quickly than before
And find the thrust more deep, and true, and painful to ignore.
And come the dusk there comes no need to sharpen well the blade,
For even dulled it makes to bleed the wounds old weapons made.
When fearful memory rides tall, where truth and myth collide.
Its whispers cause the brave to fall, and dreams are swept aside.
When trust has fled and fresh deceits have taken many tolls.
We carry scars of past defeats, upon our very souls.
The loss of innocence we grieve, and as we take the field,
The heart is desperate to believe, but bears a battle shield.
[September 1st, 2012]