The Quiet I Would Choose

A blindfold rests upon my eyes,
its fabric soft, its silence kind;
I beg to live in gentle lies,
for peace is sweeter when I’m blind.

Yet still my restless fingers twitch,
they lift the veil, they make me see;
and every truth reveals its stitch,
unraveling my kept serenity.

The knowledge cuts, though not always—
sometimes it only leaves a bruise;
but even wounds in gentler ways
can steal the quiet I would choose.

I dress the blade in sugared speech,
pretend the edge is dull, not keen;
I smile as if it cannot reach,
though I still bleed behind the sheen.

My heart protests: You could abstain,
you do not have to pierce the veil!
But hunger whispers through my brain,
my curious mind always prevails.

So once again, I lift the shroud,
and once again, the blow is true;
I weave excuses, soft and proud,
to soften pain I always knew.

Oh, what a gift it is to miss
the harsher colors truth can show!
How bitter is the taste of this:
to always learn what I should not know.

And so I beg: keep me confined,
let silence be the place I stay.
Though hating darkness, I choose its way
for peeking at the light steals my peace away.

So let the blindfold bind my mind’s eye,
let me forget what burns below;
for though I hate the urge to ask and pry,
I hate far more the truth I know.