Singed, smoke filled edges
Left in the wake of your presence;
Questioning feelings,
Gales of anger and misgivings;
The damage is done!
Trust desolated by lies,
Secrets kept to save a heart
Become it’s undoing;
It becomes the lynch pin
That unravels blooming fantasy;
Turns spring to winter,
Cold and unpleasant;
Reduces me to a speck,
An insignificant insect;
Not worthy of your truth,
Not worthy of your faith
©2014, V. A. Coote