False Hope

Acorn hubs on ground

To be dealt so glibly with
Not once, but twice
and more, as if …
The promises and praise before
meant nothing,
as he closed the door.

A solemn thought grows tense upon my shoulder;
My soul knows more than senses, now it’s older;
The question in the balance waits the date:
The balance swinging heavy with my fate.

He clings to the teetering arm
of a pendulum of his own device;
his easy voice and casual charm
ripple atop the murky depth
of a 
whose origins and audience
are unknown
even to 



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