Truth, poor truth

There's no reward in the unadorned truth.
It stuns the nerves, levels pillars,
and suffers manipulations.

Truth, poor truth.
-the unfortunate recompense of the aesthete.
-a bane to cozy pleasantries.

Point your light plain truth, 
toward the fog of human folly.
Be the agent of our salvation.

Hearty hammer

Stripped bare before life's gentle cadence,
sucked dry and laid limp in deference to silent rigor
lives a shell of a man;
a hearty hammer brought to heel.
Once pronouncing distant dreams,
folly's seeker floats unencumbered swiftly
to a sleep.
The proving ground of plenty
and giving ground to those who purchase pardon.
These battles having spent themselves
upon the concourse of the day,
a man may rest
delightful in his stunning vulnerability.

The funny dread

The beast, it takes its fill.
Mother frowns and shakes her till.


there the mites are a'mourning.
Trembling few,
ensconced in warning.

The funny dread of complicit rage
be the muted distress 
of every age.

And we,
you and me all the while
bear benefit and burden
with lacquered smile.

As for those who fight
we may wonder on their lives:
if their struggle be a light?
Or but a flippant lie?