She was the beautiful dreamer
and he, an unscrupulous schemer
he caught her in his web of deceit
thinking what a fabulous treat, one so rare
how long could he keep her here
but she could see through him like no one could
he hated how much she understood
for with her the truth he couldn’t hide
it was too much of a wound
to his pride
if he was truly seen by one so wise
he could not keep up his cruel disguise
he had misjudged her power
she was not such the delicate flower
her fire ran deep and wild
and in it he became the helpless child
he ran for fear
of being consumed by her flames
No, he realised he could not play with her
it would be an end to his games
a poem on narcissism.
©Anne Keenan 2017
WHOWOKEMEUP 