29 Trust

You never trusted me. You fuck. Not for a moment.
You kept control, of every thought and deed, of those
who loved you, those who cared, and those who
for a moment respected you. Your whim was the way.
Your desire is always the penultimate good.
And your fantasy, the one true reality.

Yet, lies and self deceptions follow for those
who cannot know and trust in love; the gulf
is that of the pit of the seventh hell, and
the ache that of the disemboweled sould
who craves for the final release of death
in a single drop of cool fresh spring water.

The running sore of uncertainty that rips all sense
from your mind with the same mouth that shuns
the loving-kindness of friends, casts you into the arms
of strangers. Any sympathetic ear, strong voice,
steady eye, and clear vision who will hear your song.
And believe the stories you told yourself were true.

Why is it that the one who will not trust, in the end
falls victim, in a repeating cycle of dejection, trusting
only the lies of another who lives in self-deception
to bend the power of others to her will.
Neither all nor new, that is the fate of many who
can never love or know that they are loved in return.