Truth Uncrowned

I do not roar.

I do not dazzle.

I do not fill coliseums

with fire and frenzy.

I arrive

without fanfare.

Just a whisper

that lingers longer

than thunder.

I am the crack

in the gilded mask.

The echo

when applause fades.

The child who asks,

“Why?”

and won’t stop asking.

They do not cheer for me—

not at first.

I ask too much.

I do not flatter.

I do not soothe.

But I endure.

I do not need the stage.

I walk the back roads,

hold the hands of the wounded,

sit with those

no one sees.

I am what survives

when the crown is ash

and the banners

burn in the wind.

They say

you cannot kill a lie

with truth.

That is a half-truth.

Because I do not kill.

I wait.

I return.

And when I rise,

it is always morning.