Scraps of truth are thrown,
Their cadaverous flesh exposed
That sincerity, like carrion crows,
Peck at until they peck at bones.
For in truth there lies sadness
And release — an ending and a start.
Like a pure arrow shot to the heart,
Or a malady of feverish kindness
It wrenches us from glorious dirt,
Pushes us over proud cliffs of delusion
To drown in lucid seas and oceans,
To wash our sores until they no longer hurt.
So, clean these bones, release me
With the cruel hand of truth not lies,
A duplicitous smile or delusive eyes
But with the savage kindness of sincerity.
© 2016 Occasional Dreams
In response to daily prompt: Sincere