Sly

I wanted to go chasing clouds

Finding comfort in its variability.

But I had dirty clever hands blessing my sanity,

Hands I believed to be God’s own…

Blessing fused with planned lies. 

When I sang of my dream,

They applauded and believed in me. 

They handed me a net 

And said they did let me go free. 

Drenched with failure 

With the net I returned. 

I sobbed in the dark 

And they smirked and laughed. 

Why did I believe?

Why did I not doubt the crooked smile?

Fools like me lie in the dark 

And die with dreams unseen.