It’s beautiful how the truth can be, isn’t it.
Pretty ugly too.
I think it’s the duality, the beauty it creates.
Depending on the paintbrush.
Depending on the canvas.
On the ‘why’.
Even as the tear drops drip,
And lips pout red,
Something grows inside,
As truth is fed.
It’s really quite simple.
But that doesn’t make it easy.
It’s really not that hard…
Once you’ve learned how to see.
I’m actually quite balanced, in reality.
It’s only once I hide the darker sides of me.
Space constricts, the soul burns.
And it turns out, it must hurt before it learns.
The rest takes over.
It amplifies don’t you see.
It stretches, laughs into the void.
As it rises, grows overtop all of me.
But the truth can’t hate it.
Not even as I drown.
Truth can only be.
Truth can only burn.
The darkness is salvageable even as is hides.
A shadow can’t survive, can’t breathe.
Not without the light in the dark.
And so I’m lost.
Swimming in absolutes and falsities.
If only I’d learn to listen.
If only I’d gather myself whole.
I’m not completely barren,
I’m not left to rot.
But the truth can’t speak.
It can only burn.
If only, if only
If only, I’d learn.
by Daphne Shadows