Custom of truth valued by all,
Lies are lies, great or small;
Where thy tongue spew in contort,
An angel vengefully hears distantly amort;
Words are weapons and liars use them well,
Spirits are broken, undo harmful corporeal;
The cuckold lives of deceit,
Where lies collapse in faithless defeat;
The certitude of justification,
Holds no conscious of explanation;
Custom of truth valued by all,
Lies are lies, great or small.
Liars do themselves no favors, because once discovered they are never trusted. Good write John.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a good write words are weapons and lairs use them well so true