i wish i didn’t have to preach the Truth.
i wish i could just fake it…
…make it
up.
tickle ears that twitch and itch for the relief
of innocuous sunday talks
like walks…
or sunday drives down tree-lined roadways
safe
abandoned
abandoned
like churches that couldn’t learn a new tongue
…or learned it but changed black to white
…and then
couldn’t tell day from night
…but ended up
full
full of empty people
people filled…
…full
full of it…
only to find that “it” does not satisfy
not like the Truth…
the Truth
nothing changes like the Truth
…it
transforms
everything it touches
it builds, or destroys
but leaves nothing unchanged.
the truth?
the truth is I do not wish to be free of its weight
the Truth
is a burden i cannot help but feel unworthy to bear
the truth
…the Truth leaves me with no choice.
