PRISONER OF TIME 2 © 2008

This voluntary act,

Of being authentic, without mask or veil,

Frightens the ordinary third party,

Who, in deceit, finds their trophy.

Unsettled, they lie first,

Trying to circumvent the naked truth,

But in falling, they break their entire pride,

And with it, shatter the raw soul.

They do not vociferate with gestures of indignation,

For they know that the wife, in times past,

At the right place, with cold precision,

Put the horns on him, without much care.

In the nature of the sceptic,

They pretend to be unique, in convenience,

But are merely another, decadent,

The false shine, a reflection of their appearance.

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