003 | Truth.

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poetry

Truth.

There was a time when I shied away from Truth,
And kept my secrets safely hidden,
For Truth itself was a sharpened knife —
How could I trust such a weapon?
To bear my soul was to hand the blade over,
And to risk being wounded again,
Deeper still than the scars that I carried.
I’d be foolish to let anyone in.
My soul longed to know and be known —
My greatest need was my greatest fear,
But the lies I believed became shackles,
And I cowered each time Truth drew near.
But Truth isn’t the knife which wounds us —
When He struck I could finally see —
Where my soul had been tethered to darkness,
Truth’s blade is what cut those chains free.

 

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