Truth

Looking straight into sad eyes
I catch a glimpse of the inner being.
Gentle and compassionate, yes,
but also obdurate, disillusioned; a hardened sinner.
Desperate details of characterization,
ones I wish I had never seen, or that did not exist.
When did they appear?

The one I once knew would never hurt another,
especially a lover.
The moral fiber, once a parody of popular choices,
is now broken and torn.
The shy, good-humored, often clumsy heart
is now careless and profane; adulterated.
How can someone chance so much?
What is there for this broken heart to give now?

With pure and unconditional love no longer a truthful option,
how can it be shown that this heart does indeed care?
Can it ever be forgiven?

Apologies bare little in regards to pain.
A portrait of incongruity; good and bad,
right and wrong, love and selfishness.

I want only for a change of character.
I do not want to open my eyes
and see the same face anymore.

And where is this blemished soul but always
standing in front of me?
For a mirror can sometimes offer far too much
truth.