An unwelcome shock to see them again,
their faces no longer a part of the place.
His memory oiled by how things were
back then, in nineteen hundred and when?

Existence now seems full of persistent
memories, though there are false ones too.
Does he rely to much on them for what to do?
When people tell him words that chime,
should he so readily comply?

Should he trust himself to think things true?
Use his knowledge or review his ideas?
Retry those memories beyond a reasonable doubt,
seek out the false ones, chuck them out?

You know what's harder than falling for the bad guy?
Falling for the others
The seemingly nice ones
The good guys

The signs are all there afterall,
Everyone can't stop raving about how wonderful he is
The ideal nice guy

And for a moment
Just one moment of blindsidedness
You believe it
You let it consume you
Revelling in the positives
Lacing together each moment spent together
Into a beautiful story

The perfect beginning, middle and end
Designed intricately by yours truly
A potential work of art
Destined for greatness perhaps
Isn't it?

The pride of your masterpiece
destroys you
Engulfing your sense of reality
Blinding you from the truth
The falsehood of it
A piece that depicts nothing
Nothing but an illusion
Another dimensional reality
One you don't  live in
And probably never will

And sometimes
In those rare moments of silence
It comes back
The crushing harsh reality
Your foolhardy choices laid bare
And you admit
Quietly to yourself
For who else can your true self be revealed to?

Maybe
Just maybe you were wrong
Those masterful strokes of perfection
The gleaming knighthood of it all
Just a lie?

A veil drawn over your sense of truth
So strong it blinded you
Completely
Drowning you in its falsehoods
The shores of reality no more than a distant memory

You know what's worse than falling for the bad guy?
Falling for the right one.

Feet of Clay
Pierced by shards
Of broken hearts.
Diluted in pools
Of sad salt tears.
Corrugated by stones
Of heavy words.
Filthy in dust
Of acidic memories.

Until... one day...

The shards become rubies
Precious in
Their worth.
The tears become bloodlines
Precious in
Their life.
The words become peaks
Precious in
Their zenith.
The dust become evergreens
Precious in
Their hope.

A mountain has arisen
From the jumbled mound
That were Feet of Clay!
The earth may quake
The wind may roar
The mountain stands
Once Feet of Clay!
Broadly facing the storm
A fortress of stone she is!
Preserved and Honored!
Monumental and Mighty!
Bounty and Beauty!



Still...

Beneath her...

Remain...

Feet of Clay.

the universe shakes me awake with an ache in my chest
and for a moment i think it's just my ribs getting stuck again except
I'm not having trouble breathing
like i sometimes wish

i look in the mirror and know I'm not alone
it's four AM
and not a soul stirs
not even my own
i think that's why my chest hurts

mine's dead
i think
and now the spirit it leaves paints itself gold
stroke by stroke
"FALSEHOODS" i scream in the mirror
"falsehoods" the reflection whispers

and i weep
a broken fragment trying to make itself new and worthy
but what a lie
the lies we tell ourselves
and the lies they tell themselves.
nothing is worthy
but hush, just paint them gold

She regretted making false stories
when lies started becoming true .

Standing alone in the courtyard, there she stands swaying in the humid breeze, a yard in the open she is a humble to fragrant Plumeria trees. Oh how I loved the wind before he took you from me, tell me it was all false and stay awhile is my only plea.
You did a swirl and you twirled in white and yellow, only to turn me into a sad old fellow!

Well I’ve waited for twenty years my love, clinging to your hopeless memory, of how there was a day that came where you couldn’t remember me.