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Truth’s Toil

The piercing sounds

of truth

the subtle sting

or voluminous blow

rather each or either

shall unbridle

the burdensome soul

Perplexed by

one’s own perspective

oft hidden well

within walls

of shimmering armour

and the afterglow

of self

Caste beneath shields

and buried still

deeper still

aligned majestically

the curse of perception

fueled and funneled

the course of fear

As dormant the truth

lain waiting

and the world awaits

invariably so it seems

yet all that which

will rise is


To be so bold

as to be

truly a friend

or rather still

one’s darkest foe

from either end

undaunted and duly


Set forth set free

upon the wisp

and whisper of wings

unfurled by the jaunt

of a journeyman’s


For verity be not


by mere want

of unfounded measure

rather measured by

the depths of longing

and toil

Be that tragic

as it may…

to have lived

and laughed

and to know the depths

of fear

and the burning face

failure seared

and to have loved

even still

Grander still

be the silent sounds

of power

freely set free

of dire and wanton


lurking still

in shadows unknown

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