Fool.

Lover or liar?
For the most part,
Who can tell?

For loving and lying being both an intricate art

The lover appears like the blackness of hell,

While the liar appears like the true and golden messiah.

Time is enough to mask the that which was given away

A few months, a little more?

A lover's lie-colored mask worn

Telling the lies against which he swore

Never to tell before its lover's heart was torn

The shadow of doubt comes back to stay.

Slay your doubt and trust in the heart of your lover.

After all, who can call themselves a lover, but lie?
If that's what we believe, why does love become broken?

Because that which calls itself a lover is sly,
It sounds of truth when only lies are spoken.

                            The spirits are dead

                       A hole takes it's place in stead

                           No more love left over.

~Jeremy R. Frenette