The truth is not a gentle guest,
It does not knock, it does not rest.
It comes unasked, with steady tread,
And lays its weight where secrets bled.
It strips the paint from every wall,
It watches silence as it falls.
What once was comfort, soft and sweet,
Turns bitter in the furnace heat.
It cracks the glass of well-told lies,
Reveals the storm behind the skies.
And though it shines, it does not heal—
Not every light knows how to feel.
It costs the peace of easy days,
The quiet nods, the careful praise.
It shatters myths we swore were real,
Unmasks the truths we tried to seal.
The truth does not caress or sway,
It takes the softest dreams away.
It asks for strength, we do not show,
And leaves us raw with what we know.
Yet still, we chase it through the fire,
This sharp, relentless, cold desire.
For though it breaks, it also frees—
The truth is pain,
But pain with keys.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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I never thought much about it, but this rings true to me.
This is a stunning and haunting meditation on truth—its unrelenting nature, its capacity to both shatter and liberate. The imagery is vivid (“lays its weight where secrets bled,” “cracks the glass of well-told lies”), and the paradox of truth as both destroyer and key is powerfully rendered. The poem doesn’t flinch from the cost of honesty, yet subtly hints at its necessity. Deeply moving and brilliantly crafted Brenda 🌷🤝