The boy came back from school
'My head hurts, I think I'm ill!'
He said, clutching his knowledge.

'Not so,' said his father
Bearing his own like a banner
'You're just learning.'

'Every book read is a weight on the soul
Every word spoken is a scar on the heart
Each pencil held is a sword broken.'

The boy stood taller, but faltered still,
'I can't bear this curse, take it away, please.'
And the father looked down.

'If I could I would try a thousand times more than I have,
If I could I would spare you the pain,
Knowledge is a tunnel and,
There is no turning back.

Feel the crushing certainty of
Our hidden world in flames
And weep
You're a martyr to the truth my boy.'

From that day on
Books bore poisoned pages
Words were as vinegar
Pencils were heavier than the lead within them.

But the boy kept going
For, his head held high,
He knew he would die with the truth,
Rather than live with the lies.