To a Pretender

You spoke of love,
Yet mercenary was your soul,
To play and act,
Eternally just seemed your goal,
You spoke of love,
And yet your eyes were steel,
Your mouth caressed,
Your soul just seemed to feel,
But far beneath it all
Is emptiness, unreal,
Only your outer shell
Might have some sex appeal,
To gain advantage
Is your aim and will,
To love someone
And later send the bill,
What can I tell you now,
How shall I feel?
I only know one thing,
You think you capture much
With all this zeal,
And maybe you are right,
But all these values, ever,
I would not trade
For something real.

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2006 Alfred Charasz