Falsehood Imprisonment

Lies do not walk alone.

They drag behind them a procession fo broken clocks,

Faces turned inward,

Hands that point nowhere.

Smoke…

Is the liar’s building material,

Vaporous walls,

Floors stitched from fog,

A forever dripping ceiling

Of sweat of withheld truths.

Rooms…

Echo with the sound of a truth strangled mid-breath.

A single lie is a cracked window,

Refracting the world into jagged prisms,

of questionable reality.

Many lies become their own cathedral of distortion,

Where even light forgets how to behave.

And children…

They grow up in these cathedral-like prisons,

Learning to pray to shadows,

To trust the flicker over the flame.

Some never leave.

Some die believing the echo was the voice.

Yes…

Lies kill slowly,

Like rust in the bloodstream,

Or the quick way

Like a smile that hides a blade

Ready to kill quickly when truth is the only lifeline

And someone cuts it to save face.

Hope…

Is realizing compassion cannot breathe in a room sealed with deceit.

And windows painted with the opaqueness of apologies that mean nothing.

Never forget…

A lie can be a noose woven from fine silk,

Soft enough to lull,

Tight enough to silence,

Love is an echo of care

Wishing to break free  

Those imprisoned behind the bars of duplicity’s haunt.