The Liar

O wretched heart.

You pull yourself apart

from looking in the wrong direction.

Disentangle yourself

from that to which you tether.

Foolish are your ways,

deception is your constitution,

blindness is your effect.

From what stance do you inform?

With no foundation, any structure weakens.

I know neither how to love

Nor what defines love

as I have not yet learned

the who it is I am,

let alone how to find myself worthy.

Maybe this life transforms

to another

wherein, on the other side,

or in the next life,

or in that which will grow from my dust,

comes a life more complete,

attaining what feels out of reach.

Neither play nor comfort reside here

amidst the rubble, remnants, and the heap —

all layers that struggle to unfold

and reveal that which is all held in.

Ah, all seems blurry and ill-defined

and I am circumspect of the muddle,

angered by this place.

Is it the heart or the mind that deceives?

Neither, possibly.

Feelings are oft not trustworthy.

They are volatile and transient in a mind like mine.

Thus, I am guarded,

more-so unsure.

Anyway,

Spring calls upon us

and maybe then

my sight will brighten

and my heavy heart, my scattered thoughts

will clarify and have a name.

For the knot in the willow

will doubtlessly tighten and release

with variance

and it is only resistance

that hardens the heart.

Till then, I will remind myself

to be careful what I wish for, or maybe

to be careful of the wish

that I never acknowledge.

It might be me, and not my heart,

that is the liar.