deepundergroundpoetry.com

Lying lips can mould the truth

When campfires fight a losing battle against the night.
And children's eyes flicker out of tune with the fires  light.
Their light shines in time with words spilled from the lips of elders.

Words that carve stories into tender minds like stiff fingers gouge soft clay while the fire spits and hisses in hate of partial truths.

They tell stories of love that overcomes and battles that someone wins.
But no story finishes all at once, and the second end is not for children's ears.
It's for the creases around grim mouths.
Creases that hide the darker truths
Like the truth in the memories of victorious knights that show mouths gaping in silent screams.

And clinging eyes that glaze with looks of accusation.
These conclusions are for waking eyes that already stare unseeing into the darkness.
As if the darkness can erase from their eyes the sight of an old fool gibbering in aching loss at the thought of going on without her.

Children's stories do not end with the loneliness of senility and the bitter tang of cold sweat that's drowned in hollow tears upon waking.
The teller of the tales knows the knowledge that comes with a child's ignorance.
And he knows that those stories do not need to be told to be lived
So he recites them only for the ones who's chins have already fallen.
Written by DystopianMelody
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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