Cautious Optimism

Love after love, a fairy tale scarcely believed to be true. Regarded either as a toast to new beginnings or a bitter taste in the mouth of a heart once broken and mended with the tears of time. Secret passions in a corridor left open for eyes to see; they skitter, wander to plump lips--sewn shut with poison thread. The greenery of first love will always be spring in the soft eyes of Truth, Her brethren marching forward with Nazi determination and bellies sick of lies. Yet here She stands with her palms upturned to a body shivering, desperate for the sweet taste of Her lips. Eyes, so like corridor eyes--wandering listlessly--focus on Her face and She feels the burn, but must not look for fear of losing sight of what's ahead.