Literature
There is honesty
There is honesty in the pen,
For the man who wears the mask will sing,
His cue is but a part to play with no chains to the face.
But there is honesty in the mouth,
For emotion holds a heated tip,
stabbed deep in the heart where words burst forth.
My flowers and his prose,
Shape a world of wonder and majesty,
Truth is lost to the pen of the poet who cannot face himself.
The man so tied in his own webs,
Lost from the light of the mask's embrace,
Truth is lost to the mouth of the man with no guard.
Both hidden from the judge,
As clouds form in the poet's sky,
till there is no light and only truth.
But there is honesty,
In the darkest dark,