Can memories be counted on as truth,
or are the happy thoughts I have a lie?
Unintentional dishonesty – but proof
that common sense does sometimes pass me by,
pushed hopefully away by an artless heart
careless of reality, intent to fly
into my memory, twisting a frail dart
of endearment – rose-tinted travesty.
When will my dazzled senses ever start
to realise that they are fooling me?
That you could never love me is so plain.
I should laugh with you then bow out gracefully.
But hope is fighting with the truth again,
and I shall continue loving through the pain.
Published on writebuzz®: