The colour of a lie is devastating amber;
it towers and casts a shadow above everything that’s pureβ€”
the dead won’t wake
their eyes tightly shut and tongues disbudded as carnations;
a lie cuts through an unsteady substructure,
and I wonder if they can hear from below the ground?
It continues to swirl around,
to exist as bad apples excuseβ€” can you feel its touch?
Its icy beginnings
and peppered endings have more than a bite to them;
they shut out the light of reason.
A lie is a world reduced to ash, pebble and shattered warmth;
yet, it’s beautiful and well thought out.

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Day Thirteen ~ 13 Is Poetry

Skylover Wordlist: Lie πŸ’

Posted for Play It Again @ Real Toads