After all the lies,
What am I to believe?
I followed only what
I wanted to see.
So now I just see
With my eyes,
Not what I read.
Deep inside,
I know our hearts
Do not lie.
Deep inside I know
He's playing
With his own mind,
And mine.
love is the continual act of dying, and being reborn... of lies and truths, of sins and forgiveness, of falling down and getting back up... but, is it love?
I love this poem. We would rather have torment that the emptiness
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hearts are vulnerable and imperfect. Knowing one's own self is the greatest challenge. You expressed the conflict in a sharp and pointed way. Good write.