then, may I

what mysteries make a man
and when is fiction what he spouts;
equivocations aren’t lies,
but you best know what they’re about—

say you’ll follow my way
—may it be true to us all—
but if you follow my lines,
it’s on you if you fall;

so honored is one who speaks
—if ever he is heard—
but who—ever—knows why
and how we choose our words;

all that reaches your ears
you’ll feel, most near;
but what, then, escapes the eyes,
most will run from, so to hide—

I’ll say it here and now:
let me speak, just, heart to heart;
and if, I, then, hit the mark,
when, then, are we far apart?

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