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Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Sonnet CCXXV

If ill-appearing discords issue forth from me,
speak not of them. But rather, hide them with your flaws
of human blasphemy. Outstretch your lying claws
with kind deception, masked with lovely flattery.
Ignore ignoble Conscience, screaming honesty;
it lies, despite what seems to be a wholesome cause.
How else do feelings stay intact, as thin as gauze?
We live on lies, existing on our treachery.

But lying here, how do you know I tell the truth?
Thus, therein lies the paradox of lies and truth.

You cannot know what’s hidden from your hungry eyes.
Lugubrious, I may be happy hidden here;
ecstatic, deep repose is clandestine – but near.
And what lies here shall be returned with other lies.

1 comment:

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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!