Real Is Rare
The real is rare,
The fake doesn't care...
One who ought to be dear;
Alas! Brings despair.
My search goes everywhere,
To meet the one who's sincere.
That one supposed to bring cheer,
And no trick play, only an option fair.
Happiest I was when he was near,
He wouldn't let my eyes shed a tear...
In my loneliness I sometimes still fear,
Where I lost him, why he isn't there?
The joy of touch, the bond of first beer...
The moments together that we did share,
That he was mine, a different flair;
My confidence boasted and I'd dare.
Soft whispers of the past when I hear,
Throws my thoughts out of gear...
But I realize again that real is rare,
And what's real is only myself here.
Sympathizers are lairs who don't spare...
Their consolation is only a jeer...
The wound remains unhealed and bare...
I sense I am pitied but I least give an ear.
It is a truth that real is rare...
A real truthful heart is so much austere,
Revered, soothing, beautiful and clear,
I will wait for him every day every year.