Naïveté

Naïveté

“Naïveté she called
All which was not
Fire and lightening and
Loud, all which did not cut
And burn and raise blisters.
And with a curled lip and sharpened teeth,
She would pronounce “naïvet&#; over children
And maple leaves and the color blue,
Twisting her crimson tongue and
Flashing her serpentine smile.

But naïveté is
To speak too loudly,
To be too sure,
To play a part (or write
Your own script).
Naïveté is pride.

Naïveté is
To hold the soul of a man,
Trembling,
Fragile, flighty,
Writhing in your hands,
And laugh.

Cynicism
Stood side by side
With Naïveté before a mirror,
And though she saw her lips cracked,
Nose bloody, and face contused,
Each form was otherwise
The same.