The Fallen

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Ask the hard questions, if we do,

might we see truth?

Truth, sometimes raw, savage,

under the skin so thin the blood runs,

up and over and through, we to me,

too close for comfort, too near I feel,

it beckoning, a cold whisper in my ear,

finds the fear buried long ago.

Then things I thought I knew,

things I thought were real,
when the layers are peeled, only lies


It can take my breath away, this truth,

and bring me to my knees.

And the ones who never ask, answer,

without speaking, they reveal everything;

better to be blind than bold,

better to turn away from abuse,

and close the door to truth.

Only God knows and God never tells.

If only we had learned, history repeats,

with little repentance. We see,

it was there all the time.

The truth died one early morning,

in the smoke-filled distance,

in the children sleeping too soundly,

in the mother who sold herself,

in the brother who lost his life,

in our self-made cages of deceit,

and how once we wept, now forget.


We are the fallen ones that knew,

and never spoke the truth.


by Wendy L Schmidt                                          |                          Artwork by Janelle Rainer + Damian Osborne 



Toronto, we can’t wait to see you in a couple weeks at unwanted.






Wendy L Schmidt

Wendy Schmidt is a native of Wisconsin. She has been writing short stories and poetry for the last ten years. The Four C's; cat, chocolate, coffee and computer are her chosen writing tools. Pieces have been published in Daily Flash 2012, Three Line Poetry, Tainted Tea, Fear and Trembling,Verse Wisconsin, One Million Stories andTwisted Dreams, Taste Like Pennies Anthology, Haunted Object Anthology, Paranormal Horror, Barbie Anthology, From Their Cradle to Your Grave, No Rest for the Wicked and Skive.