Thursday, 5 May 2016

Insider Knowledge

Time changes many if not most things about us, for better or worse, yet there are aspects of human nature that remain steadfast; whether or not we choose to listen to and act on then, though, is another matter altogether...

This poem is a kenning.


Few care to visit me,
home in disarray, those willing
to help clear up the mess
giving up in despair as squatters
come along, adding to the pile
of dirty laundry and blotted copybooks,
cocking an ear for bailiffs
banging on the door demanding dues
(to even a score?)

I can be friend or enemy,
often inflicting pain even when 
a person's best interests 
at heart. Ah, but whose? Few indeed
can look me in the eye
and swear altruism, no ulterior motive
for conspiring with me
to keep certain things under wraps
(ignore my cynicism)

Colour me right or wrong,
add subtle shades of light and dark  
in-between if that appeals 
to the artist in us all since I am,
(it’s only fair to say?)
the by-product of a creative spirit,
privy to the heart's decadence,
in denial for being called a coward
(ever playing safe, hedging bets)

I, Conscience, a whisper (wannabe shout)
would right a wrong before it finds me out

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

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