841. Untitled - March 31, 2013
It's that fury of words
that cut most,
as if flinging them outwards
would ease the anguish
when the truth was sharper
than any tongue ever wielded.
All the disappointment forms
from the ether and solidifies
into a cudgel that beats down
relentlessly -- trying to mold
the unspoken reality
into an illusion of happiness.
Not that reality was particularly happy
at any time,
but even if one lied to the world,
it was never said
to lie to oneself.
It's a bitter knowledge
that expectation lies heavy
upon the crown --
if if they are never realized,
they are ever present;
the ghosts of pictured futures,
both past and present,
that don't meet the reality of what is.
Disappointments are bitter to the tongue,
washed down by acidic words
that cut deeper
than expected.
that cut most,
as if flinging them outwards
would ease the anguish
when the truth was sharper
than any tongue ever wielded.
All the disappointment forms
from the ether and solidifies
into a cudgel that beats down
relentlessly -- trying to mold
the unspoken reality
into an illusion of happiness.
Not that reality was particularly happy
at any time,
but even if one lied to the world,
it was never said
to lie to oneself.
It's a bitter knowledge
that expectation lies heavy
upon the crown --
if if they are never realized,
they are ever present;
the ghosts of pictured futures,
both past and present,
that don't meet the reality of what is.
Disappointments are bitter to the tongue,
washed down by acidic words
that cut deeper
than expected.