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[ Poet’s Note :  This is the second of two poems personifying Truth ]

NATURE OF TRUTH : Part Two

Truth shot point blank through
the centre of her forehead
blood spurting, soiling fine furs of
humanoids at play with slick lies
and shallow Hansard words
trying to acupuncture Truth

Blood that stains and weeps and
                                   weeps
blood that runs and will not hide
Truth collapsing in a heap in a corner
                                   rise up again !
pulled firmly by the hair with wide
                                      open fingers
Truth rise and rise and rise

dance with Courage
find amethysts in hard hearts of fear
cradle them to Moon for blessing
connect with fluffy clouds where little
girls see God

Truth !  be washed by midnight rain
plait yourself softly with invisible links
where choralists sing falsettos in
unbroken voices

Truth then waltzes with Love
women with baby curls taste
                                       hot bread

Truth springs up again and again
She rises from oceans and
mountains forever and ever

Right here !

©GhairoDanielsPoetryandSong1990
Part I: The Journey

The sky unscrolls a veil of fire,
the earth inhales a womb entire.
Mountains murmur, rivers bend—
all things arise, dissolve and transcend.

The moon's pale hush, the sun's fierce call
trace shadows cast beyond them all.
The tide surrenders to the land—
no struggle, only open hand.

In every stone a silent ache;
in every leaf the wind’s live wake.
My breath not born of lung or throat
moves through the marrow, keeps it afloat.

What gives is vast and gives through all
yet mind forgets and fears the fall.
It names the love then runs from flame—
it seeks the path, then veils my name.

My soul recalls what time erased:
a rhythm lost, a fire faced.
Through fog and fracture, ash and bone,
it follows songs the stars have known.

Desire appears in shifting guise—
a thousand forms and a million eyes.
Each one a mirror lit by flame,
each one a wound that speaks my name.

And still, the Light behind the play
does not withdraw and does not decay.
It waits beneath the thrum of thought,
unmoved, untouched, yet always sought.

Not skyward— no, not upward throne—
it hums within the blood, the bone.
Let rising fall, let seeking cease:
The fire remains and the fire is peace.

The timeless ones, the inward wise,
did not pursue the fading prize.
I drank the dark and kissed the storm,
and vanished back to formless form.

No titles clung, no names endured—
yet through their hush, the world was cured.
And here the trace of footless feet—
Where I dissolve, where we all meet.
The One Within the Silence is a triptych journey through seeking, surrender, and return. Blending mystical imagery with deeply personal reflection, it explores what lies beneath striving the quiet fire that never fades. From the ache of longing, to the breaking of ego, to the discovery of peace within, my poems invite you into a contemplative space where silence becomes home.
Draumgaldr Jul 23
It was winter when I descended into the river,
Descended to beseech her to teach me about her flow—
On a dark night where beasts and fiends shake and quiver,
Where the only light was her silky, glistening glow.

Upon her arms I knelt humbly as I
Shivered.
Before her majesty, I was struck with frightening awe.
I cried and cried, and with hazy eyes I prayed to be delivered,
And then I heard her speak—
What frightening things she spoke.
The river does not whisper answers.
It drowns you in them.
lisagrace Jul 19
Dust motes catch the light
The world sighs in shades of grey
My hand reaches it—
A blue cover, curled edges
One sharp breath, I turn the page
The first in a four-part tanka series inspired by The Inheritance Cycle.
This one marks the beginning: the moment when everything changes.

Watch for the next poem in the collection if you like—each follows a different stage of the journey.
Rubyredheart Jun 17
Cold rain-showers flood the winters here.
I’ve felt bubbling cool waterfalls
touch the senses like
ruby red ***** shots shared.
Cool waterfalls, winter rain showers, sensual shots
all remind…
like
the warm shower just now—long, sensual
Pleasure
I find
Myself
finally at peace with the water
(when fibers grip as muscles pulse
and water falls)
a heart throb? or break? so close . . .
both leave me gasping for life-giving breath
This water reminds…
If only to find
another guilty shot shared with you.
rather I’m
missing peace?
Am I pretending?
Where is life without a heart?
(pulsing muscle fibers of life)
where is my heart?
where is the missing piece?
Am I Really at peace with the water?
I am more now, at least,
than I was at 23
Published 30th Nov 2021 | Edited 1st Mar 2025 | Edited June 16, 2025
What Is Truth?

A mirror,
cracked in your own hands.
Each shard shows a different face —
and all of them are you.

You ask,
“Is this the truth?”
But the mirror never answers —
it only reflects
what you’re willing to see.



So keep asking.
Keep breaking mirrors.
Truth isn’t something you find —
it’s something you become.
Written as a Luziferian echo of Socratic doubt. Truth is not a destination, it’s a confrontation — a rebellion against illusions. This is for those who dare to break mirrors and question what they see
Ali Hassan May 18
I raised a black flag high with pride,
A banner bold I could not hide.
It screamed of strength, of “I won’t fall,”
Of standing firm, of having it all.

It waved through storms I would not flee,
A symbol carved with “only me.”
I bore it like a soldier’s crown
But oh, how silently I drowned.

Each triumph inked in darkest thread,
Each vow I kept while dreams bled red.
I thought this flag would make me whole,
But bit by bit, it cost my soul.

Then came a moment, still and bare,
No crowd to please, no need to dare.
I dropped my fists. My knees grew weak.
And for the first time, I let peace speak.

A white flag trembled in my hand
So soft, so plain, I couldn’t stand
To think this could be strength at all…
But it was strength to stop the fall.

I raised it slow, unsure, ashamed
Expecting loss, expecting blame
But as it rose, I saw it shift
This white was black, the truest gift.

Not stained in rage or empty gain,
But marked with mercy, healed by pain.
It bore no name, it screamed no “I”
Yet in its silence, I could fly.

And then I knew—how blind I’d been,
The black I held was never kin.
It led me through a thousand fights
But never taught me wrong from right.

This white flag wasn’t giving in
It was the start of truth within.
And every thread once dyed in shame
Now stitched a soul that chose to change.

So here I stand, no flags held high,
Just open hands beneath the sky.
Not conquered no, but born anew,
Freed from chains I once thought true.

That white I feared to lift in shame
Became a fierce and quiet flame.
The black I chased a mere disguise,
This white revealed my truest rise.

Its threads now stained with all I’ve braved,
A banner raised, not lost but saved.
This is the black I now embrace
Born pure, reborn through time and grace.
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