Unfolding Intimately Into Illusions

So many times I was offered illusions,
of love, such empty promises they turned out to be
I unfolded myself to slip into
the dreams woven in deception
unknowing, both me, and the deceiver

Some people cannot live in daylight,
truth finds them there so not knowing stealth
becomes their wont.
Promises made in intimate darkness
don’t endure the light of day

Published in Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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