Monday, 6 May 2013



This isn't to complicate things.
Yes. Delivered Truth can be a
Gentle Kiss
To the lips. A
Of the iris. Or
Acknowledgement in sighs,
And an opinion sought for.

Yet Truth can be a
Raping snoozing, seeded grasses.
Deftly delivered,
Can slap-sting like whip lash
The sleeping cheek.

To tell a Truth can be
To risk
All that you would create,
In your secret, mossy breast.
To willingly
Your child-self into the churning river;
To use ALL
The most precious milk you have
With only thread-hope of butter.
Whilst embracing a sure defeat.

All to find
That you too
Can have parity.
To win
Your own congruent self
Through hard-won transparency.

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