‘forever’s really very short
no matter what the fools report
‘today’ is all we ever truly have

that promises are just sweet words
delicate as fragile birds
oft’ blown off course, or crushed by fickle winds

and love is just a fantasy
a false hope from our infancy
for rescue from our innate loneliness

truth is…

loyalty is bought and sold
cheaper than the dullest gold
souls are spent – like money – out of hand

that trust is just a spider’s web
spun about our sleeping heads
dashed as soon as eyes are opened wide

and happiness is lack of ‘need’
‘want of nothing’ is its seed
people… things… don’t bring it to our lives

truth is…

truth is bitter, stark, and cold
too much of it makes me feel old
why’d I have to write this stupid poem?