Germ of Truth

A man appeared—a shroud, a beard
a waterfall wholly consumed
the Valley where his soul’s entombed;

a fist of currency gut-punched
a wonderful Poverty from
the balmy dark of his heart; marched

from the shell of a gem eroded into parts—
from the well of them, the village of hearts
bleeding, in need of a man; indeed, someone smart—
to blame, to defame, to exile, and want.

The man appeared, censed with a weird—
a powerful—perfume; half-po(u)red,
the rest freshly ground, from those he neared;

the man whispered—bade the town hear
a fabled desire none dared feel—
the Freedom of Thought awash; tears

from the shell of a gem eroded into parts—
from the well of them, the village of hearts
bleeding, in need of a man; indeed, someone smart—
to blame, to defame, to exile, and want.