The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Hidden Truth

Truth without stinting flows
In gusting bellows while it snows
Of the chilling season that yearly grows

On the vast oceans where knowledge is gained
Silently every year this vessel is sailed
Where overt reality lays unveiled

And sad are these masked lonely sailors
Like camouflaged ballerinas clad for tailors
Concealing their vast abilities and responsibilities
Under the bare cosmic stars we hide our obvious scars
Clandestinely dancing in blackness wanting light
Where resonance lays unspoken yet white

Albeit borrowed are these simple ripe words
Intensely sung in delicately constructed chords
Of the angelic choir hiding behind only human attire

When performing acts measured by lucid mind
That forever chooses to be noble and kind
Hidden is the truth only to the blind

We do waste our intellect so deeply bright
As we secretly screen our stains in radiant light
Whilst rumbling darkening skies and pollution of lies

Forcing our incandescent lights to become faded
And perish amongst society so easily jaded
With our bodies so hollowly invaded

Always fighting, defeating and running
Hurting and stabbing with words so cunning
Fearing to surface our truth as this is totally banning

Programmed we lust delusion of needless cash
Burying to hide in decays of world trash
Only garbage and waste we stash

Within this, the toxic noise of pollutions
In manifested outcomes within icy conclusions
Each and every one projecting their very own illusions

Lays but us, we reside in reality shamefully ridden
Where omitted peace and facts are forbidden
And concealed truth is so deeply hidden

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