The trap is dangerous; I nearly fell.
When grit forgets the labor of its start,
Bastardized-faith slips easier than truth
Because it wears the cadence of belief.
A voice may keep its meter, tone, pose (and prose),
Speak what is factual, yet still deceive,
And call that honesty. This is the drift—
The self: moves first; the principle— comes next.
So, I address the half I still call mine,
Not as a judge untempted by this ease,
But as one schooled in how a glance becomes
'A creed', 'a banner', then a borrowed face.
What faith survives? The kind that must be earned
In neighbored talk, where integrity lives.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 4:13 AM UTC
The trap is dangerous; I nearly fell.
When grit forgets the labor of its start,
Bastardized-faith slips easier than truth
Because it wears the cadence of belief.
A voice may keep its meter, tone, pose (and prose),
Speak what is factual, yet still deceive,
And call that honesty. This is the drift—
The self: moves first; the principle— comes next.
So, I address the half I still call mine,
Not as a judge untempted by this ease,
But as one schooled in how a glance becomes
'A creed', 'a banner', then a borrowed face.
What faith survives? The kind that must be earned
In neighbored talk, where integrity lives.
