O Truth, you walk a lonely road,
With eyes unmasked and steady gaze,
Through hearts where heavy lies corrode,
You burn their halls in silent blaze.
They fear your voice, so clear, so still,
And dress you up in sweet disguise.
But you, unbent by charm or will,
Still pierce the night with sunlit eyes.
You do not shout, you do not plead,
You do not beg for human grace.
Yet those who plant your honest seed
Shall bloom in time and find their place.
O bitter gift! O sacred flame!
How many flee what you reveal—
Yet when the soul is stripped of shame,
It learns at last what wounds can heal.
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