Editor's ChoiceMusingsPoetry

This Wild World

I hate it when a friend gossips to me
About a seemingly innocent friend.
It makes me feel she does so
Exactly behind my back; which is truly true.
They make you feel like the flawless saint
Man’s like a chameleon; feet he has though
Dynamic in colour; dramatic in acts.
I’m human; I bless the sixth day.

In my sweet so sour years of existence
I’ve admired painted walls of lies.
I’ve myself painted edifices of white lies.
Lie is lie; so I heard: truth it is
Fear of having no friend makes me keep more.
Bees are important though they sting and swoon
Just silently burn your secret place indoors
Lest they spill petrol and control a once silent wild fire.

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