I
I have walked through markets of faces,
Where smiles are masks and words deceive;
Many hunger for the simple graces,
To be liked—a craving they weave.
II
What is this liking, void of truth,
That shuns the mirror’s candid light?
A tragedy of flattery’s youth,
Robbing souls of honest sight.
III
I have not joined the silent chorus,
Nor bowed to idols carved from clay;
I seek communion in the forest,
Where hearts speak more than lips can say.
IV
Hatred sprouts from seeds of silence,
Perceived indifference feeds the fire;
In the cold realm of wire and science,
We lose touch with warm desire.
V
I extend my hand in kindness,
Making others feel at home;
Speak the truth with gentle blindness,
Mend the cracks within the loam.
VI
No labor spent on false pretending,
No shapes assumed to please the crowd;
I am the self that needs no bending,
A solitary, unbowed.
VII
Often wronged by eyes unseeing,
By those who shun the inward glance;
They cast their stones without foreseeing
How mirrors break in ignorance.
VIII
It is my nature to be giving,
To love all souls beneath the sun;
Learned long ago that joy in living
Outshines the battles never won.
IX
Let minor woes dissolve in laughter,
Let love’s embrace heal every scar;
Let us build a new hereafter,
Where each of us knows who we are.
