Lies

The tears of the poppy merely bring the Spring, my child.
There's still a long way until we can smile without them.
We learnt to cry with them and we forgot our sobs.
Blind, Blind we are.
Blind, Blind she is, and beautiful.
Blind, as her bones become wings and she flies there,
where there's no water to drown her fear.
Only a rope thirsty for white skin.