Its Not Fair

In shadows, a glimmer, so deceptively bright,  

A vessel of purity, pristine and white.  

Upon its surface, a promise laid bare,  

Yet within lies a secret, cloaked in despair.  

The laver, a symbol of trust, is clean and pure,  

Reflecting a world where intentions seem sure.  

But beneath its clear waters, a treacherous rift,  

A heart of betrayal, a cruel, hidden gift.  

It whispers of cleansing, of washing away,  

But leaves scars of deceit that ever will stay.  

For the

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hands that it holds, though seemingly true,  

Are stained with lies, false and cruel.  

Oh, betrayer's laver, with your duplicitous gleam,  

You mask the deceit in a crystalline stream.  

Yet truth, like the dawn, cuts through the deceit,  

Exposing the wounds and the trickery's feat.  

So beware of the laver, its innocent guise,  

For it harbours the pain of unspoken goodbyes.  

In its depths lies the echo of trust's silent fall,  

A reminder that not all that glitters is gold, after all.