Take your false listener with her sharp poisoned tongue far from here, here where the dust of eons past falls, fruit blossoms passing from trees on sweet winter breeze. Here, where the real not false is celebrated. Quiet your errant speech, hush your lies and half-truths, speak true or be exiled. Embrace the honesty of love. What is given to another is rightly due the self. Do you not see and seek beauty? Speak softly to the tender self, whisper encouragement; do not defile the sweetness of spirit with harsh fictitious words. What truth can be found within this dishonesty? Look deeply into the self and seek a taste of eons past to propel future forward, not muddy interpretation that sinks self in wet quicksand, but winter blossoms fleeting moments past flush with promise of ripe sweet fruit.
Words by errant satiety and image borrowed from here