The Poet Has Lied Too Many Truths

To give up the dawn for half-a-penny moon

Nothing sounds not more than a cause

When a poet stops to kill the mocking bird just as usual

When the children of the wispy smilings twinkle their too many eyes

Not to easily forget or forgive the basal length cheekbone laugh

That pays the ransom to the killers' pogrom power

The poet has lied too many truths

Too many truths have been beaten back to the hangman's row

For how long one can argue over the soft killings

Of the sons and grandsons since the long ages of southpaw civilization

That has darkened too many souls in cogs of the whirring wheels

Yet the poet has worshipped the beauty of unkind truths and black shadows

As if the ecology of mind has never suffered the killing blows

Which I do confess whatever the poet has sung in hiding of mystic delight

I confess I am the poet's pedigree with the face of a false mask

Who has lied too many truths as beauty of eternity

When all the God's small children have eaten only some humble pie

Before going to war with the heaven's blessings only to die.