A fools love

It is often white, 

To hide your black life,

Often the easier way out, 

But a lie, my friend is just that, 

A lie. 

Sometimes it's blatant, 

The other times it is to hide, 

The truth in plain sight. 

Some say it because, 

Sheer habit trumps best of intents, 

Other claim they want you, 

To hurt less. 

Sometimes it is the, 

Demand of the situation, 

Sometimes it is just an, 

Exaggeration, 

Sometimes it is a fable, 

Other time a tall tale to tell all, 

But not the truth or the fact. 

Sometimes it is stretching, 

Too far, 

The other time it is twisting, 

The truth too out of proportion,

But still never the plain old truth. 

For someone like me, 

An easy and an emotional fool, 

Often the truth is moulded, 

Plain facts withheld or forgotten

To be told. 

A fool however remains a fool, 

Often overlooking the real truth,

Playing the trust game, 

Losing it badly. 

Misused trust, and misused sense 

Of loyalty. 

Questioning the fools worth

In liars life. 

Because truth, 

the fool was always told, 

Was a gift of trust, between,

People who love each other. 

But the lines have blurred, and 

The fool knows know more, 

If even though the fool is loved dearly, 

Then why the lies crop up? 

Is the fool loved at all? 

Or is that love- all but true? 

A fable? A tall tale or simply, 

A twisted truth. 

And fool sadly wonders, 

Does too much love and care too, 

Make people spin the stories? 

And pretend that the fool will always 

Be the fool, fooled by the people, who mean the world to the fool? 

Maybe the love is flawed, 

And it's only the web of stories, 

That keep it together? 

Or is the fool so unworthy of love and truth?