A Pang Of Guilt Upon The Lie
Sometimes I fear, lost in the rotting caves of my heart:
Is humanity losing integrity? Is individual personality confined
to history?
Now wrapped in cushioned blankets woven in trivia;
Now beckoned to lie on lying tongue that had once refused
to melt butter;
That used to laugh, now soured tasteless.
Embattled conscience, battered shapeless in time.
Now as I choke on truthlessness, and sob
For honesty’s sake that I forsook.
Now as I breathe food for my guilt,
And drown on wasted tuneless words;
I gag on clean air, foul-mouthed, T.V empty-headed;
Locked from myself, padlocked from the beauty that was once
me.
Indoctrinated on a twisted bed of rational lies.
Fed fact by the Pharisee’s unctuous foot,
An egocentric fantasy, labelled, ‘The Wrongly Titled
Book’.
And yes! I listened and drank from their putrid spring,
And yes! I gorged on their material discontent.
And what choice had I? Blinded from my truth.
Did I agree that they should carve out my wounds?
Did I take that pretty penny and offer them my life?
Couldn’t they see the blood from a heartlessly raped
soul?
Couldn’t they see my words drip from the whittling knife?
And what price to pay for merciful friends?
Who would ask me to abide the pang of guilt upon the lie.
