If it were just the lies
a gash or two for say,
a ripple would have been
born,
and end tomorrow or today.
A systematic butchering of
trust whereas
with cold untruths and
stories fabled,
creates a wave of emotion
so wild,
that washes away all
reason and its child.
After the storm ends, and you see the straws of
what used to be your home, your shelter , spread
afar ,
the reason gets all the more immaterial. a myth. a
consolation
which is only mocking in nature and humiliating in
attitude.
the only thing left to do, is to pick up the pieces
and start anew.
And you know, there and then , that
it is not going to be the same and h
however far you may go looking,
you will never find all the straws.
the storm can unleash itself anytime and
shred your hopes to pieces , but then ,
what can you do but hope again?
in hopes that the straws will be
found.
