By Don Kenton Henry
There is only one version and you can’t buy it off the shelf
If can be redeeming; It can be utterly cruel
It shines bright when brought into the light
Or it can haunt you in the dark of the night
It’s the currency of the wise and the counterfeit of fools
It need not always be offered but, when, asked for, must always be given
It’s a mirror in which you can’t hide from yourself
It makes for a hard friend to keep but one you can’t afford to lose
Often hard to defend, it’s a path you choose
It can cut like an knife―friends and enemies alike
Fidelity is the heart of the matter
Lies come served on a silver platter
They tarnish the bearer and poison the guest
And the conscience of the first shall know no rest
If a conscience there be
This course could be served in a plain white wrapper or a brown paper bag
But its contents liberate―for better or worse―the good and the bad
So think before you speak, for your conscience’s sake
You can sleep like a lamb or you can lie with snakes
Truth is the friend of which I tell
Evidence of it will be known―or not― in your name
As will the times you stood with honor or the times you fell
In shame
Speak the truth and you’ll never have to remember which story you told
You are writing the story called The Book of Your Life
It will have only one version . . . and you’ve only one soul
Truth will be its author, there will be no rewrites
Let honor be your lantern . . . let its way be your light
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