Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Four: Of Who We Are By Hannah Williams

What do you say to me?
When you’re done selling broken dreams?
Whilst tears fall down my cheeks like bitter streams.
In my search to redeem what could not be fixed.
Instead of the tepid truth,
You make promises on rainbows that didn’t form after the rain.
Your deception got me dancing on clouds.
It got me wishing on stars.
My reality reaching towards some distant planet- perhaps mars.
Your deception took us that far.
Instead of revelling on the authenticity of who we are.

 

 

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