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They call me mad when I speak what I see,
But truth ain’t a mirror — it’s a key.
It opens the locks on their comfortable lies,
And that kind of light burns sensitive eyes.
They point at the one who won’t fall in line,
Say, “He’s lost his grip, gone out of his mind.”
But the madman to them is the one who can see
That their world is a cage dressed up as “free.”
I spoke with conviction, I roared in the dark,
Tried lighting their path with a flickering spark.
They told me to hush, said, “You’re causing a scene,”
But silence is violence when the soul’s unclean.
They mocked every warning, they scoffed every clue,
And painted me rogue for refusing their view.
Still, I stood tall — a storm in the flesh,
Truth in my chest and the fire still fresh.
But the wildest thing I’ve seen to this day,
A moment that made my own mind sway —
Was the truth-teller folding, nodding along,
Singing the verse to their ignorant song.
Not out of wisdom. Not out of grace.
But because he was tired of being out of place.
He traded the edge for a seat at their feast,
Turned from the prophet to the well-fed beast.
That’s not evolution — that’s spiritual death,
To inhale deception and call it a breath.
To mold your own voice just to echo the crowd,
Is to bury your soul in a conformist shroud.
See, the crazy ones hear what others dismiss,
Catch the notes in the static, the truth in the hiss.
They walk with a burden that cuts to the bone,
But better to hurt than be numb to the throne.
So what’s crazier — deaf to the truth while it’s said,
Or the one who once knew it, then turned back instead?
To me, it’s the latter — the fire that died,
The one who gave in when the battle got wide.
Because truth abandoned is truth betrayed,
A sword once drawn now rusted and swayed.
And every time a real voice dies,
Another blind world believes its own lies.
So call me unstable. Call me deranged.
I’d rather be real than compliant and changed.
I’ll ride with the truth till the end of the line —
Unmoved. Unshaken. Undimmed by design.
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“But truth ain’t a mirror — it’s a key.”
People have been criticizing and persecuting those who speak truth since the beginning of time. It is sad that the persecutors always seem to outnumber the truth tellers.
Keep up the good work, John.
Thank you, Chris. You’re absolutely right — truth isn’t a mirror, it’s a key. It doesn’t just reflect — it unlocks. And that’s exactly why they fear it. The numbers may not be in our favor, but the impact always is. I appreciate your support — we’re definitely not stopping. Thanks again, Chris. I hope you have a great day! 😎
Great poem
Thank you very much, Michael! I hope you have a great day. 😎