Permit me, if you will, a word Not loud, nor ill-defined For I have kept a courteous mask While doubting my own mind I’ve worn composure tailored well In charcoal, black, and grey Yet underneath the pressed lapel Certainties decay I speak with calm conviction As any man of sense But honesty, I must confess, Is not my strong defense For I am torn between the truth And what I ought to be A gentleman of steady hand Or frail uncertainty I polish every phrase I speak Till none may see the seam Yet still I lie awake at night And doubt the man I seem I’ve mastered all the proper nods The firm but tempered tone The art of sounding quite assured While standing quite alone They say that doubt is weakness Unfit for public view And so I keep it buttoned tight As decent people do But silence has a gravity It settles in the chest And whispers most persuasively “You are not like the rest.” For I am torn between the truth And what I must portray A portrait framed in confidence That time will not betray I bow, I smile, I reassure I play the part so well Yet in the privacy of thought I know the cracks I quell What if I were forthright What if I were plain And spoke without the varnish Of reputation’s gain Would I be thought diminished Unworthy of esteem If I confessed that courage Is rarer than it seems It is no simple labour To stand as one appears When honesty demands of you An audience for fears So here I stand, imperfect With posture held intact A man who values truth above The comfort of an act If doubt resides within me Then let it share my name For candour may be quieter Yet braver all the same And should you find me falter In voice or in belief Know this - My honesty Is not a flaw, But proof.
