In Loving Truth Poem by RIC BASTASA

you hold the truth
and show it to me as early as i was six,
you had it molded like a sculpture of
a well shaped egg,
a chicken egg, showing the fragility of a shell,
that when i fail to hold it with care
it breaks and cannot be
the same again, no matter what
or how,

the truth is a model
something that we have to imitate
but my palms have lines of each own
and i was born as a scorpion
with scissors in my hands

you want me to be your truth
and it will be painful and so i must go
somewhere where my kind of
truth will be respectable

there is no place yet for me
and so here i am with you
exploring all the possibilities of harmony

and so i must lie to live with you
and be with you for the meantime that my
castle is not yet a reality

must i tell you the truth? i can't
for this spells the death of harmony
even the view of your funeral
where i can be the pretentious grief
the laughter subsumed
on the face shedding
crocodile tears

i have more to tell you
but i am safe now in my silence
safe with you and the world and the stars.