by Ken Bremer

Tears, idle tears,
Flowing as a salty river,
Down the face of the one who is betrayed,
Lied to,
Or pitied for recompense,
For the truth,
Understood gradually,
In all its bitter surprise,
From the land of blissful ignorance,
With Eden’s tempting fruit and sweet lies,
In the cloudy land,
Of the present day.


(from: Imagine: New and Selected Poems 1998-2014, America Star Books.)