from within

Smoke Screen

I haven’t opened this door since awhile.

A list of emails filed under ‘Do not touch’.

Here they are, some now I’ve read and smile,

An electronic equivalent of a ribbon tied batch.


Words, commas, dots and sentences,

The meanings so captivating and so true.

An expression of your heart with no pretense.

So why did I say ‘It feels dead’ to you?


 Don’t we treasure sincerity, but only want

Baskets of fake, sugar coated candy

As a measure of ‘warmth’? So I said ‘cold’,

A repose of indignant anguish may be.


And now it seems so innocent and so clean

When false Gods of greed burnt in my heart’s lava,

Seriousness, laughter and everything in between,

The new thoughtful letters is what I discover


No, I didn’t buy a brand new pair of eyes.

Relating of a soul, desire and need free

Observes a smoke screen of unrealized lies.

Forgive this fool of a woman who couldn’t see.


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