Of Dreams and Desolution: The Poetry of J. Douglas Stephenson

Hypocrite

Hypocrite

You claim to press your lips to the path

But you can't live in words and beauty alone

You're nothing but a ruse in a rose garden

Shame set in a gray-blue iris, I see your truth

Living out of context of what you believe

In judging us all, for your eyes can not see

A shadow in the sun set, swearing to the sky

Doesn't mean anything when you're steeped in charade

Trials and tribulations colored blood and deception

You'll pray again, forgiven again, forgotten again

And burn the world to Hell, until your hands fold again

J Douglas Stephenson