Sometimes

Not the darkness

But it is the blinding light

That makes us think its day

To dupe us, till morning arrives.

Sometimes

Not the clouds

But the clear sky

Makes us believe its all well

To fool us, till sudden downpour it is.

Sometimes

It is not mistrust

But love;

Getting overt and excess

To reach a point, to suffocate love itself.

Sometimes

It is not love

But the sense of self

Overshadowing, candid but an uncontrolled demon

To murder love, by ego.