Truth hidden and frail.
Each day more sadness
Covered by my smiling veil.
What of optimism
Or of thoughts attracting thought?
Might it be just a sham of hope
That really serves for naught?
Even Love is not as strong
A cure-all as it used to be.
I wake with the sun, and begin again
Despair following me.
You're right---pretty despairing. Ahhh...those elusive golden years.
ReplyDelete