I hate the illusion of friendship

That some can contrive

To gain their own advantage.

I would rather have nothing

Than sell the chalice of trust

I have guaranteed.

I am happier—

Knowing that all the honours

And wealth

I could have had

Would be delusively obtained.

I cannot cheat or lie,

But I am far from weak—

I can see into the most

Carefully hidden worlds

Of conscience-ridden guilt

And compromised deceit

That anyone can find.

Yet, I am no poorer

By my honesty

In the true rewards of life:

Even at the expense

Of what others might imagine.

This centre of peace and joy

Within my heart,

Will still be with me—

Even if I should suffer

(Which I do not)

For being innocent!