I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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The Night That Day Became

Except for the bow of dawn

Morning approached unrecognisable as never before.

A low sun bleeding from the wounded sky

Caught the face of the sinner, kneeling,

Expectant of a death;

Bringing his life to its lifeless end.

The light had fallen from his eyes,

Hollow after interrogation and gloom;

Graceful, though, his fall from valour to vagabond.

I might have known him once, I thought,

Nearer had I walked the way

Toward the place where righteousness weeps.

Apart from the martyrs and saints

He shivered out an explanation, a last apology.

To learn one’s error is to admit a defeat

Yet even the cunning must learn to accept –

A silent confrontation between the head and heart

Did never any permanent harm.

Everywhere is here at some point in time,

Here is where I lie,

This night that day became.