Tantamount To A Confession Poem by Mathew Lewis

Words are dangerous things,
They attach to the writer a reputation,
Or perhaps more correctly they spill his soul.
If I for instance construct a clause
Of heavy handed happenings,
On how I broke the law perhaps,
Is that not an admission of guilt?
Or does the fact that it is poetry
Make it sacred?
Does it not align itself to a sworn affidavit;
“I swear to tell the truth the whole truth
And nothing but the truth, ”

And if I write on love? ...

I am happier in the moment
Of connection than at any other time,
My feelings and my soul summed up
In more or less a line.
To wave away the rain and cold
Just to see your face,
To feel the mutual gratitude
In a momentary embrace.

What then is the meaning and effect?
Would the reader assume, objectively,
That I am just creating verse?
Or maybe, just maybe,
She would see through the mask
And understand my words.

Yes words can do many things,
Create pain love and war,
But words are most dangerous
When they speak a heart, body, mind and soul.
When they say what must be said,
Dry and obvious without disguise,
Words that are, when all is done,
Tantamount to a confession.