Tell me a truth
of burning flames.
Better yet,
Chant me all the truth
Of a holy rosary.
Or would you whisper a truth
Of a head on a silver platter.
Perhaps, you’d like to
Express the truth
Of a dance through the city.
Or act out the truth
In the washing of your hands.
Could you do all that,
Plus destroy a temple or two,
And it be the truth
Of your heart?
I know you say it would
But no bushes burn,
No seas part,
No lepers heal,
No dead rise
When you know nothing
Of your own heart and soul.
What we know of words upon a page
Read, learned over again until sated
In the richness found.
Then turn to the electronic blue haze
Where even words resonate, echoing fade.
For the sweetest lies, a believer craves.
Then scrolling over plastic flowers dancing,
The words of a lover’s refrain found
Written once too often
In wooing others
On the same blank cards
With pictures of bears.
The words like
Cheap plated jewelry’s shine
Turn black in the bitterness
On the day some thought
Something pure, pristine was born.
Then, finally, is it known the words
Of the poetic, the romantic
Are but rhetoric and lies
Written and said
More than once
But promised
For one.
The gravity, the gravity
A black hole.
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