photo by Author

Fool’s Gold

He hands out iron pyrite,

and tells me that its gold.

He tells me faith will keep me warm,

as I’m freezing in the cold.

Can reality be so different,

than the pictures that he paints?

I’ve given more than any soul should,

and still he takes, and takes, and takes.

It’s my fault, you know,

for being so naive.

And thinking words can heal the scars,

that only love can leave.