Wednesday, 3 April 2013

live your truth; come what may

The voice, clear and straight, said "live your truth; come what may"

I knew what it meant,
'though,
more often I muzzle mine,
on occassion I rock the boat,
clear my throat, and something unfiltered falls out-

potent,
poisonous as porn,
but it was not my intent to pour scorn.

"Live your truth; come what may"
and the silver cord running through hearts, vibrates and hums.

So when drowned in thought,
I might feel the resonance, and pull back to something pure.

The distant ways of the boy.
Thinking less, simply taking steps.

Shame it fades,
obscured in the shadow.

"Live your truth; come what way"
the law of diminishing intent warns
you must strike while inspired,
the will to action wilts like old flowers.

The traitorous part of the brain
quick to bury an idea in scrutiny
scoffs at simple wisdom
"What is your truth today?"
and I had to concede my truth is as consistent as English weather,
but I smiled, at least it is not boxed in.

My heart is warmed by wisdom.
Shame it must cool and hibernate.

A creature of compulsive habits,
what is there to live for-
but the truth, underneath.

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