Too Much Truth...
when we arrive here
we carried with us our own lies
we keep them
and we survived
when they come and see us
for the first time
they keep wondering why unlike
them we glow with happiness
we did not tell them the truth as usual
we believe that it is not necessary
from that distant place where we left
we have seen how too much of truth
has killed the land and its natives
how the lies were driven away like flies
they swat what are some of the possibilities
those white ghosts
those black birds that guide us to places
that we never once imagine
what we discover are islets of desires
those that they shy away from
we have masks that protect us from so much brightness
we have boots from mud
we have words
and with their pretensions we have learned the art of
hedonistic euphemisms
the artistry of phrases the promises of incomplete clauses
some periods are angry
but our commas still smile.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
