The Truth...

Truth is always on the cross of persecution;
Ethics and charity are in the prison,
Eternally bubbling up in flaring agony;
Tears are insufficient to extinguish
This fire, burning inside the heart.
Could the wind reaffix or refurbish the flowers,
It has pushed down, back into the stem?
Shadows running amuck, through paths
Breaking away into unknown distances.

Could anyone depose away this desolation?
Terminate this morbid silence and stillness?
Could the ripples in the stream, bring this boat
With its broken oars, to the safety of the shore?
My sighs and sobs are blossoming
On your path, my beloved!
Where do you go, leaving only the frozen agony
In the cage of my chest, which you can’t see now?
The flowers of passion, you laid out in the path
Are already dried up, and have become brittle.
Come back before the tempest blow me out
And scatter them in the air, into nothingness....