Belief

Maybe you once

were what you say you are.

In those memories

of walking hills; mountains,

and planting corn.

 

Borrowed, freely given

to an aunt

wanting a daughter.

 

Learning Buddhist traditions

while looking to

God.

 

Someone you so strongly

believe in.

 

You say you talked to him,

because

nobody

would

listen

 

to a girl.

People find this an acceptable thought.

 

I’d talked to my imaginary friends

and people thought me

crazy

and immature. You did, too.

 

But what is the difference?

 

It’s belief that makes something

real.

 

And she, who believes me stupid

and naïve, and useless--

 

It’s belief that makes something real.

 

--maybe it’s true.

 

Don’t tell me of this acceptance and humility

of yours,

you don't accept me for my belief (or lack).

Don’t tell me how hard your life is.

 

You only look in judgment

in that carefully made façade

of eighty years

covered in make up and perfume.

 

Don’t tell me you can’t lie.

Don’t tell me you love me.

 

Don’t tell me you love me just because it’s convenient.

I believed in you once.

But you don’t know the meaning

of unconditional love,

 

don’t promise me something you can’t give.

Author's Note

Eh.

Reviews

[Legolas]

Very.... Im speechless. Excellent job!1