“What to do with these lies…”
I asked myself.
Shall they be sold to the highest bidder?
The tainted blood is not to blame.
For there is much more to the letters in a name.
The stewed pot…
Left not stirred.
The phantom hidden behind closed doors.
So, what of these tears shed?
Are they for the changing tides?
Or, more misguided lies?
In someone else’s name…
Do I not relinquish the shame?
When turning over a new leaf…
Had it been turned for belief?
Or, sense of relief?
Alas, with all these raked over discoveries…
The tired leaves did not change.
But the fabrications remained the same.