A passing essence of lost hope.
Your soul is empty,
your spirit waned,
’tis the reason you
play desperate games.
A master of words, they slip
from your tongue, soothing
the edges whilst you have your
fun. The world is created
through images of flesh,
and you consider them this or,
perhaps a bit less. You play and
you take your feelings so fake.
A whirlwind of fantasies out rank
life’s realities. But when day break
comes and you’re all out fun, you’re
going to realise whilst you were playing the field
with nothing to build,
she passed you by, that single one.
Karen Hayward ©2017