If raw ink-drops would bleed our deepest thought
And there would be no seal upon our pen
If we should dare to unleash verbal blood
Allowing suppressed emotion its free reign
Would any love us when the truth has spilt?
Or would love redeem the anguish of our guilt?
Distorted law may raise its gavel higher
And sear truth’s parchment in its pious clutch
The fullness of admission sparks a fire
Where secret follies are too clear to touch
And judgment blushes, for a kindred spark
Opens to usher light into the dark
If raw ink drops would spill across a page
Where none could shield the truth with painted lies
If honesty would blaze on center stage
Appalling in its naked un-disguise
Would there be any left to shake our hand?
Would any whisper, yes, I understand?
© Janet Martin