Until mine own voice of truth and reason is drowned
By voices of lies and deception.
The works of absolute fiction
But not me.
The voice of truth has been whipped, gagged: punishment for blasphemy.
No ears to listen. All turn away.
It goes on.
It goes on
That I begin to believe it too. I am no longer the voice of reason. I am mute.
There are only lies seethed from lips who know not any truth only the fiction
publicised to their ears.
I know why.
I know why
No ears will
Listen or even
The truth. Fiction is more appealing. Fiction is entertaining. Fiction can be molded and shaped into ludicracy.
It changes more often than the seasons or the hours of the day, so often that soon there is no way to ditinguish the fact from
The fiction and so what was once seperate is now "one and the same".
So it seems.
So it seems
That no matter
How hard I
And how much I cry out "These are LIES!", my own voice which once spoke truth and reason is mute.
But I can.
But I can
and I will
My voice is small, but it is truth. It is reason. My voice will seperate what what once two but i now one.
I shall not faulter.
I shall not faulter
Under the bludgeoning
Lies and fiction
By lips of ignorance.
They hit hard. I bleed truth. I will go on. I will grow, faster than fiction can for a new shape. As I gow, I shed my skin.
I shed layers of damage to reveal a layer of forgiveness. I now bleed truth and forgivness.
They can talk.
They can talk,
As much as their desceptive hearts desire. I know, and He knows. That is all I need to know.
No one else needs to know. My new skin will protect me from the bludgeonings of fictions's desceptive lips.
It heals faster than my older skin. I am ready.
Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.
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