The sane truth

For you never know who you are

until you find yourself exposed in a dark ravine,

lightened only by your own invasive sight.

Then you see yourself bended by in your own limbs,

wrinkled in your own skin, silken by your own hair;

and you find yourself controlled by your own muscles,

tightened  by your tense wired tendons,

your exposed heart caged

by the calcified boundaries of your own  bones.

There you are, bended over by the sane truth.

Then you will lose your dreams and the sense of worth;

you will wish for more time to spare.

Your sleepy body will yearn for a mighty anointment.

In the dusky touching, you will solely find hands 

that will tear up hope, and pain, from your gazed face.

Under the open wounds, the embossed covers will bare 

the sober truth and the upstanding light that comes
from your balmy soul