A passing essence of lost hope.

by blossom666

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

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