Fields of Liars

When the sun rolls behind the hills,

     the sky painted with streaks of

     pinks and russets,

I hope you remember -

remember the trees,

     the meadows and flowing fields,

     the way the seas of greens and yellows

     brush against your fingertips.

I wish the whispers that escaped your mouth

     like a subtle breeze would’ve brushed my

soul with such grace.

Nothing you've ever said to me could

     hurt me more than the flames

     that stole my wildflowers,

my beautiful landscape of wide

     open fields and lines of strong trees.

It burned down like every lie

     I've ever let slip past my teeth

     and allow to singe my tongue.

I don't know if your words have ever

     tasted like gasoline,

but I know your sharp-eyed grin

     could easily ignite anything

     you want to see light up in the

hottest ways.

But your words - slimy, muddy things

     that hold as much value as the

     saliva of a bullfrog - are nothing

     compared to the implication of

your actions.

It seems you're quite a contradictory

     person. Sadly, I see that in you

     with a hindsight point of view.

The past has always been a haunting thing.

     I see smoke after the candle has been blown

     away, a residual fog that covered my sight.

I couldn't see the truth, although it was

     right

     in

     front

     of

     me.