five years the sycophant
finally free
able to see past
your faux reality

as your mouth moves
I cannot hear
but I feel the air
within my ears

like the soothing sound
of a gentle tide
on a moonlit night
it rushes by
a lullaby

you do not see
the cosmic scene;
in misplaced belief
you perceive
“justice” in your deeds;

my words too
wash over you;
I see plainly
how utterly vainly
you dress up
your disguise of lies

neither of us right nor wrong
each a singer of our own bird song
in such a standing, precisely fair
for love is a selfish affair
we claim to love and wish the best
but true love is but a test
for those who love to love freely
even when it means
to let go completely.