The death of an illusion

As my hot cup of coffee steams in front of me…

warming these palms, I feel free,

of past illusions as painful as it may be..

To let go and know,

that I too have grown

sick and tired of old games,

no longer do they entertain,

play in the dark,

realise this work of art,

is made of many shades,

some blue, some gray, some tainted by dismay.

No certainty only intention,

unless there some kind of intervention.

Word is bond,

perception has failed me it was wrong.

Objectivity led me to find

that feelings run my life,

therefore I am not blind,

I cannot deny,

it’s not a weakness that somewhere along the line

I came to the knowing that it was only a state of mind, no longer is there a desire to rewind.

Instead I turned my cheek turned my eye

the other way,

looked away.

Nothing more left to do, nothing more left to say.

Faatima

xx

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