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The Truth Is (poem)

Updated on May 12, 2016

Come hold me again my sweet mother

The son you once knew long ago

What hand shaped this world we now live in

The truth is we don’t really know


Remember the days I first met her

When nothing could pull us apart

Every street every corner would echo

A beauty had captured his heart


Remember that last night together

When you heard her sad tale of woe

What took place much later that evening

The truth is we don’t really know


The officials say that I killed her

My fingerprints were on the knife

But something else shrouded my vision

I could not take my lover’s life


With handcuffs they came to arrest me

My madness and teardrops did flow

They say as I fled some were injured

The truth is we don’t really know


My story all over the news now

Each headline much grander than next

The truth of a moment grows cloudy

As by needs of greedy I’m vexed


Come muffle my screams my sweet mother

And tell me my world isn’t so

Is this dawn of evermore’s nightmare

The truth is we don’t really know


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    • vkwok profile image

      Victor W. Kwok 2 years ago from Hawaii

      I like the way you wrote this tale in the form of a poem, Martin. Bravo!

    • jhamann profile image

      Jamie Lee Hamann 3 years ago from Reno NV

      Your narration of the story is brilliant. The flow of the tale fell neatly inside the verse. Jamie

    • bravewarrior profile image

      Shauna L Bowling 3 years ago from Central Florida

      I've often wondered how mothers of murders feel. I have a son. He's my only child. How would I feel if he became an evil person? Would I stand behind him? Would I love him? The sad truth is, I don't really know.