Death may even be a boon,
In these, the times when all the truth
Succumbs to the temptation of
Immaterial lies. Vows are
Lost – whispered, and no one
Listened.
Unenchanted, I am
Surrounded by memories
In sweeter times made.
Only ghosts, because
Nothing else remains.
Mortal figments, passing woe...
Earth and dust, by nature low.
Now I know how it should be,
The mask is torn, and I can see.
A/N: I'm getting rusty. An acrostic poem I have lying around. Revised it a bit, since I just saw it on my phone earlier.
hindi ko na matandaan kung kailan ko isinulat ito.
YOU ARE READING
Read my Eyes
Poetry“The tongue in flattering falsehood deals, and tells a tale it never feels; deceit the guilty lips impart, and hush the mandates of the heart; but soul’s interpreters, the eyes, spurn such restraint and scorn disguise.” (Lord Byron) Probe mine. Tell...
