Truth’s Debt: a Poem

Updated on September 25, 2017
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Threekeys is a freelance writer and poet who loves burning candles; drinking cafe lattes; and standing under Moreton Bay Fig Trees.

One key foward, ten keys backwards, rings and sings
One key foward, ten keys backwards, rings and sings | Source

Truth's Debt...

Never discovered pride,

of mango orange talents that were dewy-eyed.

Never valued or duly paid,

yet, all about work or seeking work, made.

How can one forge belief in Self?

When faces, mirror ice shelves.

Ambrosia of risk taking,

is frozen, because of losing all and aching

Cycles of eleven sing,

one sharp key forward, rings,

with ten flat keys backwards, sings,

lemon chiffon dreamt up to sting.

Tranquil midnight blue waters. Freed up.
Tranquil midnight blue waters. Freed up. | Source

Inner drive is euphorically defunct.

The outer jewel needs to be a carrot distinct,

so, spin the glitter ball,

of silver sand that bears the call.

I’m sitting in a teacup,

on tranquil midnight blue waters, freed up.

The storm has passed,

it is safe to believe contrasts.

Through a temporary fragment,

of honeydew green time stagnant,

the hurricane winds of false words,

leave me gaping like a hungry bird.

Weaving of status, appearance and goods.
Weaving of status, appearance and goods. | Source

Waterboards present a fish out of water,

initiating a ducking into mortar,

that authors, solace,

through the blooming of imagination of the solus.

Society knows you,

through the weaving of status, appearance and goods hiatus.

Serfdom is the golden poppy kingdom,

where one becomes a victim or a Lincoln.

The question my sire spawns,

is, do I throw myself away as a yawn?

Because the crowd’s amethyst,

is ramming their way to a classic.

The swim to Apollo's light rim.
The swim to Apollo's light rim. | Source

Enchanter and defender of the Soul,

closes the shutters of the heart’s field goals.

A redefining grace of self value,

others, though, deem this fallow and hollow.

Eons of loss and unrequited love,

flips the switch, creating a mourning dove.

Shrivelling the blush red,

into rigid stick ends.

Life cycles of eleven,

throwing one into dark lessons,

only to fight the swim,

to the surface of Apollo’s light rim.

Stolen the tenderness. Shrinking the tender baby pink.
Stolen the tenderness. Shrinking the tender baby pink. | Source

Mountains and valleys of solids,

I’m in another dimension, the lollards,

only to be encircled by air,

which means yes, to Spirit dare.

The lightness of periwinkle blue,

author’s the story’s view,

of the death test,

set up in David and Goliath’s confess.

Others have stolen the tenderness,

love, children, pets of splendour.

Beauty, anniversaries, and work taken endlessly,

followed by beliefs and tolerances of secureness.


Something unknown begins to stir and pop.

Along the road of austerity,

the deed is done, and met.

The sword has been thrown down and kept.

Thank you for stopping by to read this poem.

I feel

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© 2017 Threekeys


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    • threekeys profile image

      Threekeys 7 weeks ago from Australia

      Hello DreamOn. I never quite know where a poem will take me. Its great to see you that your inner Muse is burning with creativity. Here's to us writing more poetry (smile). Thank you for your kind words.

    • DREAM ON profile image

      DREAM ON 7 weeks ago

      Your poem transported me to another place and time. I love your rhymes. The pictures are beautiful. Thank you for sharing on this wonderful day.

    • Venkatachari M profile image

      Venkatachari M 2 months ago from Hyderabad, India

      A wonderful and awesome poetry. I appreciate you, ThreeKeys. What a great talent in your spinning of those enchanting lines. A lovely work. The images are also equally beautiful.

    • profile image

      Threekeys 2 months ago

      Gracious and kind of you Gypsy Rose Lee. Cheers!

    • Gypsy Rose Lee profile image

      Gypsy Rose Lee 2 months ago from Riga, Latvia

      Enjoyed the poetic colors and thoughts.

    • threekeys profile image

      Threekeys 2 months ago from Australia

      Eric, I enjoy poems because like every other piece of writing, once the words leave our page and enter into our world, the words take on a meaning that has personal signifigance (or not) for the reader, of which I didnt see or read when I or any other writer has written their piece. That maybe the gift or curse of a poem or any other piece of writing written by a writer/authour. Tomorrow, when you or I read this poem or another piece of writing, we may see something else, hence the narrative changes.

      I dont know what you read in this poem but only you can take responsibility for whatever action/s you are going to take.

      This poem was about my personal ideas and experiences around truth-both the benefits and the cost.

      Sleep on it and then think some more, eric.

    • Ericdierker profile image

      Eric Dierker 2 months ago from Spring Valley, CA. U.S.A.

      My friend I wonder if folk will get this work. I would be glad if they do. A funny thing is that this just got me to move forward in an area. Thank you.