London Poem: Day 204

9 March

What is said, is not always what is.
To be certain would be to take time back,
And have you do it all over again.
Deceit is so easy.
The lazy, unerring of trust
Is so easily exploited, the action
Is a reflex, but where can it go?
Innocence slips away and the thought of
Us teeters between heaven and hell.
There is time yet to salvage what we have,
But I cannot hide that tonight,
I only see one way to morning.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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