TRUTH IS THE RAREST THING

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TRUTH IS THE RAREST THING

The finest swords are always in sheaths;
And dangle from the belts of kingly regalia.
They’re never employed in such feats
That are likely to end in disdainful defeat.

The first daughter is always a treasure
And must perpetually subsist around her roots;
Whereas the second fears no such censure,
And may chase love abroad for her pleasure.

The truest words are often veiled
In the silky necessity of pained silence;
When prior attempts at speech had failed,
And lovers lose the trust they’d gained.

A sword, a girl, the truth…
It’s unchecked that we truly live.
And poets have left many truths untold,
In their pursuit of measured lines, and rhythm.