Commère of Truth

I write a poem in purple mourning;

There is no greater sorrow  

than that of the Sun

when bleeding tears of fruitless Barrenness

which cannot save your desolated Desert



Oh what dark task to be Commère of Truth

When Love is not Enlightment

but is condemned to Bitterness

Confession and at last Confusion



Oh how to call upon conclave

to seek Conciliation, Hope and Sweetness

if Beauty is discarded for the grave

and Honesty gives way to Death's dark Lie ...



myra


Author's Notes/Comments: 

Losing Love to the Lie

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