Fresh Cement Poem by Dan Brown

Honesty is
a billowing cloak; translucent white, yet
quick to become opaque.

Honesty has
an enemy; a mass of torch-wielding words
with an aim to quash it.

Honesty is
alive; living in the lull in conversation, or
the silent responses to questions.

Honesty has
a secret; few know that Honesty likes
to contradict and confuse.

Honesty is
hard; a rough coarseness that is, so often,
cold to the touch.

Honesty has
no allies; few are prepared to
fight for it’s cause.

Honesty is
soft; a smooth fluidity, comforting
and volumed with substance.

Honesty has
such scent; fresh-mown grass and rose perfume,
fused with a warm Summer’s breeze.

Honesty is
my lover; waits by the radiator
for me to arrive home each day.

Honesty has
a treasured possession; a flawless mirror
in which to admire a flawless reflection.

Honesty is
jealous of nothing; not vain, yet knowing
of being better than all else.

Honesty has
a loud sound; a booming voice which sometimes
lessens. To a quietly-spoken calmness.

Honesty is
the sand beneath your toes on the beach; broken into millions,
and distributed by Nature’s Forces.

Honesty has
red string In it’s pockets; used to bind
and mend the Engine.

Honesty is
a thumbprint in fresh cement; innocent and easy to form,
with a potential for immortality.