Your memories
aren't graced by fact
nor heard as truth
by those you must astound.

They bland express great tact,
by hiding well,
their sure distrust.

Your words when said,
are quick forgot,
since only you believe them true,
but even you recall them not.

Exhumed to once again redo
your past mistakes the same.

You lie,
but fool no one,
except your self.

You write of truths,
but then deny,
in modern form,
for bookstore shelf
your disguised rhyme.
For blank verse school,
you hide your rhyme.
That beat count, too,
you mask.

Look back,
Oh mirrored fool,
but know I too,
just won't see you!

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