I knew a spy
I knew a spy who told me her truths.
She told me her lies so I could never surmise where the line lies, the line of the spy. The words and the eyes. The live and the die. The strange life it must be, the life of a spy.
I knew a spy who lived life a lie. Gambled with fate as easy as choosing the food that she ate. And would look at the dark like it was light. Would stand in the rain to camouflage the tears from her eyes. To stand in the rain to wash away the pain.
I knew a spy who would to me wink with her eye. Carrying a smile with long flowing hair and stylish in the clothes that she’d wear. But never a line did she cross.
Her life was a line, a line as sharp as a knife.
I knew a spy, I wonder where the sun shines on her smile. I wonder where the real person is free. What she gave to serve her country. I know she’s alive from the cards and messages I see with my eyes. But can she ever be free? I know that life wasn’t for me.
Copyright © A Yorkshire Poet | Year Posted 2024
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