The path to truth
is a lonely one;
One not littered by
carcass of sycophants;
The day you step
on that path,
Rest assured that misery
shall keep you company
till your last breath;
Careful, lest you fall prey
To intolerance that you despise;
The day you step aside from truth,
and step gingerly,
Fearful of hurting feelings, and
Practice political correctness,
You die.
From that moment onward,
with an aching heart,
Lonely and miserable,
Your skeleton marches,
The rotting bones whisper
in your ears,
Words of wisdom
that you feel are true;
Alas,
No longer alive,
Your silence speaks for you;
And soon,
Another martyr to truth
bites the dust.
Fleeting Muse 