Sing to me in tunes abound
of love where hearts are lost, not found,
And merry ways besmirch a frown
tries so hard to life from down --
Hark, no angel comes tonight!
The sodden dripping of tears' flight
to ground below a treacherous sigh
speaks only of illusioned high.
Truth beguiles the loneli-less heart.
It softly begs for winds to part
those whose dreams are well and far
below the circumstantial par.
At eves of joyous giving:
Expectations dash hopeful living,
the bulges concur over thin.
Despised likeness grow within.
All I want is truth alone
which cannot be dispensed on phone
before or after jealous days
when gaiety presents a haze.
This heart has shattered far within
and feels about to commit a sin:
the words of truth that must be told
will break another from this mold.
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