To The So-Called Comforter Poem by Mary Champion

There is no comfort now I understand
the way you work.
I cannot trust
the things you say;
ambiguity wins the day.
You always have an out,
some smart excuse,
that proves you right
and me too eager
to believe
the tide has turned.

The years I've wasted
in fruitless hope.
The fledgling faith
you gave the rope to hang itself
off some cliff edge of time,
whose duration
I misconstrued.

Where can I turn
now that I know
there's only you?
And knowing you
I cannot trust
a single word
I think you've said.
For all I've been through,
for all I've learned,
I know enough to know
I have not earned
an ounce of certainty
of when her
plans will be fulfilled.

I do not doubt
you showed me to
an understanding
that got me through
my broken heart.
But, now it's mended,
I'm just as lost
as I was when
I had not seen
the light you shone.

I see the future,
but not how far ahead
it really lies.
And that's your fault
for truth, when spoken
by your forked tongue,
could just as well
be blatant lies
for all the comfort it brings now.

So now I'm lost,
lost in confusion,
most of your making,
save for the part
I spun in my desperation
to reach my goal.

So, here's another
sad sucker
who followed
the pied piper
into the dark slough of despond
and disillusion.
What was the purpose?
Was there a point?
or was it all
a mere diversion
to pass the time
I have to bear?