You thought you were
The master of disguise,
Hiding everything about yourself
As you wove your web of deceit.
You use mystery as your blanket
And rest your head
On a pillow of lies.
Although your eyes may become moist
Under the threat of falling tears,
This is just another tactic
You use for the ultimate effect.
King Midas had the touch of gold
But your eye's, your heart,
Are frozen, cold.
For things you want you strive to keep
Until no longer useful.
Irina Whitford
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dreamweaver-2/
