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My Truths
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The truth is not always beautiful
or beautiful words from sugared lips, the truth.
The Trojan Horse delivered to the door, comes in disguise.
Sturdy in design of wood, but empty as a trickster
who plies her trade amongst unwary
and the inevitable susceptible naïveté akin to the Greeks’ quaint
love for the common old garden grasshopper of all colours —
a Greek tragedy in the making, rivalling that of Sophocles.
My truths are more complicated than the above:
an exposé wrapped in the variable
old clichés of devotion and eternal love of the other.
Keeping the secrets of others is a burden to be
suffered in silence until a beautiful
death do us part – then rendezvous in eternity.
Copyright ©
Suzette Richards
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