no title

a poem about what is perceived and what is real

Her eyes the color of spring
Shed tears as pure as gold
That stream over cheeks as soft as silk
And flow over lips as lovely as a flower
Those tears taste as sweet as candy

But does she believe it
No that would be wrong
But life is so deceiving
To herself alone

Her eyes are the color of hell
Which shed tears of fire
That stream over cheeks as rough as sand
And flow over lips of cold stone
Those tears taste as sour as spoiled milk

But does she speak of it
No that would be wrong
She just cries those tears
To herself alone