The Truth

The truth has been told a million times before.

It hangs from the trees and

lies unceremoniously on the floor.

I trip on it as I walk,

and on something invisible, I stub my toe.

I don't see it.

It whispers, beckons, calls,

but I ignore, I ignore.

And a million different promises come knocking at my door.

I believe them,

knowing full well, what's in store.

I hide from all the demons I know exactly how to defeat,

because sometimes I'm just too tired

to get up on my feet.

The simple path is one that just can't be beat,

but what's the use of completing something

without it being a feat?

What's the use of achieving

if no one gets to see?

What's the use of keeping a secret

that has no chance of getting leaked?

Where's the excitement in silence for hours on end?

The silence that I so heavily crave when I'm with someone else?

For a second, I see a spark, an idea, a stroke of genius and it's gone.

But I won't try to follow it, it will come to me when it wants.

I guess being passive and waiting, also means I can do no wrong,

So I'll wait for the truth.

Instead of searching I'll sit patiently like a dog.

I'll wait for a command,

or an maybe an instruction,

or hopefully clarity on the purpose of it all.

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