It’s Easy

He took her to a fancy place
Where every wish was plied;
He watched her on the table there,
Her smile pure, and wide –

She thought this man was everything
And all this, bona fide:
It’s easy to seem – anything –
When there’s no one

She stretched out on a lovely bed
And let her passion go,
Perhaps she knew him better than
Someone like me could know

A game inside the game became
Her favorite undertaking —
It’s easy to believe the lies
When they’re of your
Own making

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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