Even hearts of gold
can suddenly turn cold,
sending one on a journey with
a blindfold,
offering the uncontrolled.
The customer so naive,
filled with the longing to believe,
don't know that what you receive,
can grieve more than you achieve.
Some are the smallest favors,
but still read as a waiver,
can make you wait for a tiny savior,
yet resulting in a fit of quavers,
building up to declare you a slaver.
Most can move the sky,
so big, it echoes a battle cry,
harder to supply,
it looks as sweet as pie,
although it's as sour as
goodbye.
He promised to be happy,
eyes no depth, sincere,
however the day passes by,
the fading light just outlining
that he is truly unsatisfied,
these feelings inside a facade.
A promise is something
that you will do,
will give,
will vow.
So stop lying,
for promises are
meant to be
b
r
o
k
e
n.
YOU ARE READING
tree.
Poetry"a feast of words about a girl's opinions about life, her love for trees, and a certain boy."
