Echoes of the False Word

There was a time I thought myself honest,

a boy who held truth like a candle in a storm.

But somewhere—

I learned the trembling art of deception,

and the candle guttered out.

~

The first lies stung, sharp as vinegar,

burning the throat, curdling the stomach.

I swore—never again.

But oaths collapse

when fear is louder than conscience.

~

One lie becomes two,

a net to hide in,

threads woven quick to mask the frayed edges

of who I am—

and who I fear to be.

~

Excuses parade as kindness,

as duty, as love—

yet love twisted in shadow

is still shadow.

And excuses never taste like truth,

though I chew them until they’re soft enough to swallow.

~

With time the sting fades—

practice dulls the ache.

The echo remains, though,

a hum in the ear of the soul,

a reminder of the path I chose

when courage slipped through my fingers.

~

I wish I had listened

to the ache of the first falsehood,

let it cut me clean,

instead of learning to live

with the endless ringing—

the echo of lies

that never stops.