Au Contraire
isn’t grey the finest shade
to fill the sky
to aptly fade
from misery’s old masquerade
a drowsy disposition
isn’t Cupid’s mind to blame
for wretched love
for passion’s claim
straight through my heart, his perfect aim
and malice ever after
don’t you hear the sounds that teem
the clustered speech
the cities scream
soars echoed from my latest dream
of blushed reverberation
can’t you see I’m busy here
with killing time
with bruising fear
your missives were most insincere
and left me thus with nothing
Copyright © Greg Easley | Year Posted 2006
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