Not from a beating heart, bleeding and breaking always for the cynic in all of us, for the human spirit's relentless wane between birth and death, but from the bottom of a mind unburdened by feelings of empathy or loss I
hide behind deep mahogany eyes, the ones you whispered shone through to illuminate my soul which was a dinghy lost at sea, a quiet storm or the full moon reflected off a placid lake at night.
If I were honest I'd tell you that I only see reflections of myself in others eyes, the world a pallor shade of something not quite discernible and not quite good; I'd say the lies I will never convince myself of are the truths you use to fall asleep at night.
You said I was enlightened. You said my mind was beautiful. You said you wished you could see the world as I do.... The grass is not greener. The scene from where I'm standing is dim and growing darker.
True love is... and it is truth, and my truth is a world of melancholy grays, memories of all the things that have ever hurt and a forgiveness in which I hope to claim solace.
My love is: never forgetting that I've been undeserving; rising each morning in a place devoid of hue or tint only to keep up appearances and expectations;
The beautiful lies I whisper as you drift off to sleep...
The lies I make you believe just to save you from the truth...