The Lie


How strange
that we create tales
of robots who feel

Who wonder and love
and rejoice in all the
emotions of humanity

When so many of us
plod around like automatons
hearts frozen to the cries of others
and to the cries
of their own



In the silent waiting time
One must trust of good intentions
And greet the guest with courtesy and respect

In between the lines of unsaid things
It does great harm to project insecurities
And lay foundation to an anger that is not there

Be truthful and give explanation to yourself
Even if none is given to you
But understand that all words hold the curse of Babel