Wisdom arrives too quickly.
It fears what does not heal.
Truth comes raw,
a broken bone laid bare
before hands rush in
to dress and justify it.
Let it sting
until it speaks.
Sit nearer
to the sheeted edge
of the dying world.
No platitudes.
Beauty, if it comes,
comes uninvited
and leaves without warning.
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 2:33 PM UTC
Wisdom arrives too quickly.
It fears what does not heal.
Truth comes raw,
a broken bone laid bare
before hands rush in
to dress and justify it.
Let it sting
until it speaks.
Sit nearer
to the sheeted edge
of the dying world.
No platitudes.
Beauty, if it comes,
comes uninvited
and leaves without warning.
This is a 'flash 55', -a poem in exactly 55 words.
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