We drink, at times, the sweetened,
Other times, the bitter cup:
And truth is more than anything
Than our minds can dream up.
She was the truth in makeup, she
Was lies out in the grass —
A hundred kind of choices,
Each of them too good to pass —
She wrapped herself in denouement,
Then spread that on the winds,
An innocent on holiday,
Too practiced in her sins —
I was a tool. I was a fool.
A tool among the fools:
To play a game where only she
Knew any of the rules.
How many times, how many ways,
I knew the feeling hollow
Of what it is to trust someone
Who goes where you can’t follow.
She left one day without a word,
My heart and head felt battered,
To feel her wrapped around me seemed
The only thing that mattered —
But life can be a funny thing.
Our hearts are self-repairing,
Especially when they’re around
Someone whose gifts are caring.
The “truth in makeup” still exists.
She’s on my Facebook feed;
We both are older now,
We’ve lost some looks, we’ve lost some speed —
But all of us face grief, and pain.
And in the final summing,
There’s naught we should as kindly treat
As our mistakes