Remnants from this moral compass remain, shattered, Crushed beneath one's foot
yearning this darkened soul, bitter sweet, forbidden fruit.
Wipe the salty sweat from thy brow, mistake it not for a tear. Rivers flowed long ago, empty vessels remain.
Truth, pressing against teeth that grind, a sand papered tongue, thou shall not speak, nor kiss the lips of a liar, why kiss the shadow of one's own?
Feed on thy grapes of wrath, let them be plump, ripe, sour and pitted that you may choke when you learn of the truth.
D. Cofone
©poemheart
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