Memoir

Perchance I thought,
or just a cradled whisper
that you may dream
of sheer contentment
The simple things seem so lost
between the words
when someone did you wrong

...and it must be cold there
it glistens with the mist of that mistrust
and loves the ancient way
drained of all things pure
...except in you

...and are you ever lonely?
ever feel the efforts go unsung?
perchance the dream has died
awaken to the world he filled with lies

...are you ever lonely?