But broken promises are not lies,
They were once wishes
Spoken by naives.
Like paper boats folded with hope,
Set loose by flamed hearts,
And sailed by innocent hands.
Drifting bravely across open fate,
And doomed when the tide turns cold.
Soaking the seams,
Pulling them under the realms,
And leaving only ripples
Where beliefs once floated.
But broken promises are not lies,
They were once wishes
Spoken by naives.
Like a glass shaped with hope,
Held up to the light in burning hearts,
Cast into the ocean with open hands.
Until shards of broken edges
Slips from their grasp— wounded.
With a sudden fall,
They all sink silently.
Drifting with waves, their memories,
Of beliefs now shattered.
But broken promises are not lies,
They were once wishes
Spoken by naives.
Like a bud opened by hope,
Turned towards the sun with fervent hearts,
Nourished by soft hands.
But the seasons bloomed with sharp rims,
Not in ruin, but in a soft collapse,
All the petals fade to pass.
So as I turn towards the ache of light,
Thinning your existence,
Of once a belief, now a memory.
