|
I give my truths to practiced liars
Moments such as these
And let them go
Wings of angels beating where the silence ends,
Somewhere between fragments of thought
And the beginning of a journey
I give my truths to men’s hands,
The swollen limbs of athletes
And the waiting pressure he guides me to
Gently I release my hold on something deep inside of me
As he drops me, falling further into the me that never was
Give my truths to women who
Will never be mothers
Who will never nurse as children watch
And baleful eyes, to sink into the giant turmoil
Who we were supposed to be
When we were supposed to be
I give my truths to you, my dear
As we are sitting in this darkness, as though we had never left
What we have never found
And you, the child so afraid, the thunder loud inside your mind
I give my truths so freely here
To summer nights and languid peace
But maybe I never gave the truths at all,
Carry them still, so soft within my belly
Deep and dark as Georgia nights
Rich with god, and lost as faith
Maybe I have never known the truths at all . . .
Maybe I never will |
Browse All Columns 
