Poetry in Motion: “Truth’s Unreserved Confession”

A poem by P.E. Shadrick

There are quite a few wonderful poems about truth; Emily Dickinson’s work certainly comes to mind. However, I wanted to try my hand at delving into the subject in my own poem, “Truth’s Unreserved Confession.“

The poem is written from the perspective of personified Truth, who confesses both its mission and approach. In a world where “my truth” and “your truth” are often relative based upon individual perception and perspective, I wanted to present a glimpse into how absolute truth might express itself to the humans who dare to ponder it.

The first half of the poem is an introduction; it seeks to lead the reader to consider the nature of truth and its role in society. The second half, however, invites the reader to look inward and ask the tough questions of themselves: “If I’m being honest, could Truth be talking to me?”

When we examine the world around us, and more importantly, the world within, we better understand the meaning and purpose of life. Hopefully, “Truth’s Unreserved Confession” will stir both contemplation and respectful debate into the vast complexities of the nature of absolute truth.

Truth’s Unreserved Confession

by P.E. Shadrick

I am more than an acerbic menace

to the fragile empire of self-deception.

I am an audacious and vital display

of precept, spirit, and rigorous dissection.

I am summoned to challenge the liars,

manipulators, and callous thieves

who cloak themselves in clever ploys

and charming narratives that deceive.

I am chosen, a warrior born of an

orderly and embattled genealogy.

I dare to warn, even the darkest of foes,

of an impending and gripping theology.

I am called. I am sent. I am faithful,

not knowing the outcome of my mission.

I do not shrink, nor dully compromise;

incessant and mindful, I do not “fit in.”

I am aptly designed. Justly made,

fine-tuned with ever-evolving precision.

I know my worth, even when irrationality

cannot be swayed by logical decision.

Like a prophetic and acute chess piece

hidden on a grand board, in plain sight.

I am the checkmate to pretense, a nemesis.

Unexpected. Convicting. Steadfastly smite.

By proxy, I speak clarity, an obstinate

and taxing weight I’m bound to carry.

Like Cicero’s wise, begrudged principles,

my words—a corpse—they hasten to bury.

In autocracy, they pertly roll eyes,

gaslight intention, and never truly listen.

Blinded by ego and deaf to providence,

it’s their own noxious demise they christen.

Caught up in winning a foolish game,

they neglect a candid and fair disclosure.

Desperate to hide what they fear most:

categorical and unreserved exposure.

Tick-tock, the Watchmaker winds the clock.

Your time of self-worship will come to an end.

But fear not. You won’t find me impish with

hungry eyes, hands itching to apprehend.

When that decisive day rightfully arrives,

my image will burn indelibly in your mind.

Perpetual. I’ll exist, a vexing affliction,

branding your hubris and egotistical crime.

In a fleeting and reckoning moment,

you’ll sense it was indeed I who was sent.

Much disturbed, you’ll balk and seek to collect

but never receive your spurious rent.

You’ll waste time censuring, never asking

why you fell so abruptly on the board.

Yet, the question which should be on your tongue

is one you’ll, no doubt, choose to ignore.

Is it likely you forsook the obvious?

Despite a profuse omen, you fell from grace.

But how could you, a crafty and shiny showman,

be so careless as to lose posture and face?

Ah, the wound of truth. A salient sword.

Liberating the chastened. Piercing the proud.

Cutting deep to remove the avid cancer…

only if you discard the bootlicking crowd.

Can you wrestle with the injunction you fear?

Are you so brave, or just another coward?

Humbled, will you seek wisdom discarded,

now you know what befalls misguided power?

Still, you may try—and fail—to silence me.

But I am not a slave to your projection.

It’s only a matter of time before fate

collects payment for any feigned abjection.

Don’t be bitter, spewing cries of “injustice,”

for sifting is simply how the universe works.

Human choices have objective consequences.

And my nature, its eternally refining quirks.

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Poetry in Motion: “Truth’s Unreserved Confession”

A poem by P.E. Shadrick

There are quite a few wonderful poems about truth; Emily Dickinson’s work certainly comes to mind. However, I wanted to try my hand at delving into the subject in my own poem, “Truth’s Unreserved Confession.“

The first half of the poem is an introduction; it seeks to lead the reader to consider the nature of truth and its role in society. The second half, however, invites the reader to look inward and ask the tough questions of themselves: “If I’m being honest, could Truth be talking to me?”

When we examine the world around us, and more importantly, the world within, we better understand the meaning and purpose of life. Hopefully, “Truth’s Unreserved Confession” will stir both contemplation and respectful debate into the vast complexities of the nature of absolute truth.

Truth’s Unreserved Confession

by P.E. Shadrick

I am more than an acerbic menace

to the fragile empire of self-deception.

I am an audacious and vital display

of precept, spirit, and rigorous dissection.

I am summoned to challenge the liars,

manipulators, and callous thieves

who cloak themselves in clever ploys

and charming narratives that deceive.

I am chosen, a warrior born of an

orderly and embattled genealogy.

I dare to warn, even the darkest of foes,

of an impending and gripping theology.

I am called. I am sent. I am faithful,

not knowing the outcome of my mission.

I do not shrink, nor dully compromise;

incessant and mindful, I do not “fit in.”

I am aptly designed. Justly made,

fine-tuned with ever-evolving precision.

I know my worth, even when irrationality

cannot be swayed by logical decision.

Like a prophetic and acute chess piece

hidden on a grand board, in plain sight.

I am the checkmate to pretense, a nemesis.

Unexpected. Convicting. Steadfastly smite.

By proxy, I speak clarity, an obstinate

and taxing weight I’m bound to carry.

Like Cicero’s wise, begrudged principles,

my words—a corpse—they hasten to bury.

In autocracy, they pertly roll eyes,

gaslight intention, and never truly listen.

Blinded by ego and deaf to providence,

it’s their own noxious demise they christen.

Caught up in winning a foolish game,

they neglect a candid and fair disclosure.

Desperate to hide what they fear most:

categorical and unreserved exposure.

Tick-tock, the Watchmaker winds the clock.

Your time of self-worship will come to an end.

But fear not. You won’t find me impish with

hungry eyes, hands itching to apprehend.

When that decisive day rightfully arrives,

my image will burn indelibly in your mind.

Perpetual. I’ll exist, a vexing affliction,

branding your hubris and egotistical crime.

In a fleeting and reckoning moment,

you’ll sense it was indeed I who was sent.

Much disturbed, you’ll balk and seek to collect

but never receive your spurious rent.

You’ll waste time censuring, never asking

why you fell so abruptly on the board.

Yet, the question which should be on your tongue

is one you’ll, no doubt, choose to ignore.

Is it likely you forsook the obvious?

Despite a profuse omen, you fell from grace.

But how could you, a crafty and shiny showman,

be so careless as to lose posture and face?

Ah, the wound of truth. A salient sword.

Liberating the chastened. Piercing the proud.

Cutting deep to remove the avid cancer…

only if you discard the bootlicking crowd.

Can you wrestle with the injunction you fear?

Are you so brave, or just another coward?

Humbled, will you seek wisdom discarded,

now you know what befalls misguided power?

Still, you may try—and fail—to silence me.

But I am not a slave to your projection.

It’s only a matter of time before fate

collects payment for any feigned abjection.

Don’t be bitter, spewing cries of “injustice,”

for sifting is simply how the universe works.

Human choices have objective consequences.

And my nature, its eternally refining quirks.

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