The truth lies
not in her eyes,
for she learned
long ago
how to forge
desperate lies.

It's as she was
conditioned to do...
to tell lies
with her eyes,
and beguile
with her smile.

The truth lies
not in her eyes,
but if you must know
just where her
verity dwells...

it's in her voice...

the timber,
the rhythm,
the words,
the whispers
in the sound.

It's in her voice
that her truth
will be found.

Can you hear it?




By Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Vibrant colors,
droves of faces,
quite the happy daze

Tepid gods,
vast oasis,
such euphoric haze

Visions sublime,
befuddled senses
precede the happy dance

Creativity sparked,
mother nature's dreaming,
find your totem in the trance




by Mercurychyld
©

I saw it...ravaged and old,
cursed by...time.
Left to rot in an
old, unwelcoming lot.

It told of so many roads
traveled, so many
conversations had...
so much love made in
the dark of night, parked
in secret places.

Life...it had 'life' once..
long ago.

So many places, so many
stories, buried forever,
within squeaky hinges
and forgotten steal.

Now, disregarded...
and discarded...but
once, long ago, it
provided...it was
essential and carried
precious cargo,
encased by metal and
glass....

before becoming a relic
of another time.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 2015


* Re: a picture of an old parked, rusted pick-up truck