In rooms thick with expectation, she entered,
the air grew taut, every surface strained,
polished smiles turned brittle, like porcelain,
fragile beneath the heat of her gaze.
Her pen, a scalpel for silence,
each question stripped the room bare—
The kind of naked everyone despises,
truth rubbing raw at covered wounds.
No one dared to halt her stride,
her voice was sandpaper and sunrise,
unsettling but achingly necessary.
Even the powerful shifted in their seats,
as she carved the air with questions
sharpened by a refusal to flinch.
Some whispered gadfly, as if names
could anchor a storm to stillness.
Her laughter, light and threaded steel,
made mockery of disquieted corners.
The battle was always uphill, yes,
but she climbed it—boots mud-slick, steady.
She knew the unasked would crush her,
knew duct-taped mouths breed regret.
So she stood, stubborn against propriety,
and pried every shadow wide for sunlight.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: April 24th, 2026 08:24
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, sorenbarrett
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Comments5
well written.Your poem explores the theme of courage in the face of uncomfortable truths. It depicts a powerful figure who confronts silence and propriety with incisive questioning, revealing hidden truths and challenging societal norms.
strong write much enjoyed
So well written and with great images of metaphor a fave
Thank You Soren
Most welcome Gray
Excellent. Very well written
Thank You Katie
There is no more honourable position for a journalist than that of taking truth to power, sometimes with costs; but possibly not as high by virtue of the profession as a whistleblower and others of that ilk.
I enjoyed the force of the message.
Thank You Dave for sharing your feedback I appreciate it
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