Well Poisoned

  

How dare one drink from the rancor well,

potent poisons of hopeless lies you tell?

So foul sweetly sordid, unsavory stench, 

No soul could ever hope to acquire to quench

the thirst for truth 

denied this brew

That casts its cruelty whisper across a shaded sun,

eclipses life's effulgence from darkened everyone.

Who dares well-dip to simply sip 

from tenderness starved and parched lips,

Perceptions of bold tall tales told as perceived ills

neither be they farce, 

nor are they mercifully real?

The toxic twist of truth that soaks

into the throat of prayers that choke

upon half-thoughts of hateful lies,

parade in love's most pomp 

and masked disguise.

Each drop of deception that they secretly hide

pools puddles welling wearily in tearless eyes

yet cares merely enough to meagerly stare

at a reflection of some soul sincere

  intently eager to impair.

An arid desert dryness that none 

can neither cry nor bear,

for each one fears the emptiness 

of a death that festers there.

Where have you gone 

my young bronzed loved one

Who sang long gone songs 

of my everything?

What has death done

with love fresh begun

than died an end,

then felt no friend?

As wet weary eyes 

bled teary dry

pure puddles of pain, 

showered a ceaseless rain,

Soaked into an undeserved shame

never to be seen or heard again.

As tender hearts died,

  tenderer hearts cried.

Stolen, torn, forlorn away

remembrances of another day.

Wind-withered buds upon the vine,

What happened to this love of mine?

One morning I woke 

as droll reaper spoke,

From tossed, tortured bed,

"This love is dead."

I tried to breathe the life back in

as you sat cold, 

smiling bold chagrin.

Deafened ears no longer could bear to hear

reason beg, drifting distant, 

to disappear

into your selfish silence 

of a looming brood

that radiated uncaring, solemn moods,

that tore, that preyed, that gently sucked

each life-drop from all that it touched,

devouring each frail heart of those,

its insatiable, ungracious hunger chose.

Poisoning all who partook of its lingering lack,

wailed frail "mercy" when any brave enough 

dare come back,

for they know that beneath the slacker's heart of stone

sinks a pitifully deep hole that it calls its own,

 where pain and its denial throned upon its musty shelf

await a must daily dusting by its most pitiful self.

So indulged in sheer robes of egoic pride

one parades, too proud to put pretense aside.

Denied joy's laughter swirling a torrid toxic home,

each sweetheart grows older, 

colder, then hardens to stone.

Yet, behind a hidden blind curtain beats one gentler heart.

No one can see its secret torment lone-stalking dark,

Where no one hears sheer pleas beg on air's embark

into hushed softness so meek sound barely imparts

its muted messages of sorrow's sorest lack

recoiling from each slight but surest attack.

Assaulted by the insincere,

Battered by truth's inner fear,

Love's cruelest coward hung its head

tucked its tail,

and mercilessly fled. 

~P.S. Colley~

                        c. 2026