Saturday, May 16, 2009

I am getting somewhere

closer to finding out.

Blurs of hints in the air

pass by on wings of doubt.

I always felt the noise,

compared bells' common tolls.

Try to ignore the voice.

Patient. La Verdad unfolds.

The head, the heart agree--

two voices, they are one

that speaks, calls me as rain

would travel to the ocean.

The truth suspected, what

I would submit to learn

the reason doors slam shut

leaving me alone to burn.

Truth suspected is sand.

All but few sweet grains slip,

remain cupped in my hand.

Hand trembles, afraid to grip.

Note: La Verdad Sospechosa, or The Truth Suspected, is also the title of a Spanish Golden Age play. The characters hide their true identities and pretend to be someone else for various personal gains.

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