Is there truth in me

Is there truth in me

An honesty

Is everything I do and say

A proof of my existence

The purity of my soul

A remnant of innocence

Do I believe in beauty

The majesty of good grace

Are my intentions honourable

Would I know if they were not

What does it mean

When random words spill

Onto the page

Of their own accord

Reassembling into sentences

Pulled across the paper

By an invisible power

How much of it is me

When I am an empty vessel

Full of holes

Are any letters left inside

Did they ever formulate

Conjugate

Congregate in corners

Like delinquents

Rebel against authority

Demand to be set free

Of the expectation

Of gradual release

Do they rise in my throat

Waiting to disgorge

With every cough

A convulsion

Of undigested phrases

Do they pour unchecked

An endless supply

A new Klondike

Without typhoid

Do they all just fall out

Unchecked

What is their compunction

Is meaning ascribed

Before the fall

Will I have any agency

For the discovery

Of their power

Am I full of hubris

Is it all a deflection

Designed to distract

Myself from the truth

Of internal sadness

At the passing

Of all things

And the significance

Of my own failure

To hold them close.