Is it too much to ask that you be real?
I think it likely is, for long I’ve known
This world’s disdain regarding how I feel,
And that what’s true inside is rarely shown,
Like sparkling eyes that mask a heart of stone.
The colors of deceit, the cloth we wear —-
And far too much to ask a soul to bare.
Is it too far to go to come in close?
I think it is, I’ve seen it twice, and more,
The distance traveled: half of an ‘almost’,
The shortest pathway, leading out the door
That promises returns, then yields but poor.
I’ve known it so, and felt it to be such —-
It’s way too far to go to really touch.
These questions cycle, churning in my mind;
Theses moments that we see,
That leave us