Failing Love

The slow,slow throb of failing love
resounds full deep within my veins,
yet  courses still to feed the mind 
that longs for peace and  sanity.
How close becomes the thin divide
betwixt a thought of rationale,
and one of spent illusions past.
To cloud a judgement born of faith
too late a vision formed of lies.
Deceit, a cloak of velvet barbs
drawn close about to comfort, yet,
with  each embrace a wound inflicts 
a memory too raw to forget.