Literature
Half-Truth
Half-Truth
I had watched this charade far too long,
As the clergy carried in the accused,
I knew this cliché was more than just wrong.
The Victims tears ran red with blood suffused.
I hate this sweet, delusive martyring.
I relate to forlorned iniquity.
On the floor he rasps, "I don't know a thing."
Then he is dead, with eyes glazed and misty.
I'm sick as Holy prays, "Evil be gone."
What is right, what is wrong, I do not know.
In darkness, evil is hurt and withdrawn.
In light, good is blind with no room to grow.
However, the closer you get to light,
The greater your shadow becomes in spite.