All I Hear Are Golden Harps

I've never been good at writing descriptions for things, so you'd probably do better just reading the work itself.

What nice things I have to say, when I tell myself the truth!

We all know 'em. Big lies, little lies, I-know-I-shouldn't-believe-this lies. Sometimes, the lies are like a leech, draining out the life from your veins until you can't really stand up straight anymore. Sometimes, the lies are like constant sidekicks that influence what you do and what you think about yourself.

I think the lies I believe would best be summed up as "stupid little BIG cymbals that won't shut up."

And then, there's the truth.

I think the truth would best be summed up as "beautiful, heavenly golden harps."

See, the thing is, cymbals are alot more powerful than harps. In fact, if you were clanging a cymbal right by my left ear and playing a harp by my right ear, I'd probably be annoyed by the cymbal instead of focusing on the harp. That's kind of like truth and lies. You have to concentrate in order to hear the harp's magical melody instead of the cymbal's dumb din.

I find that golden harps are far more relaxing than won't-shut-up cymbals.

Today, I heard harps.

I think the best way to drive my point home is to include an excerpt from ωanderlus ą, one of my poetry pieces.

skin burned
hope singed
battle defeated
scars acquired
wounds reopened
eyes closed
heart sore
legs weak
swords sheathed
silverlining faded
paradise lost
peace broken

but i hear golden harps playing in the distance... 

When I start combating lies with truth, I find that the cymbals are quite quieter than I'd originally thought.

What nice things I have to say, when I tell myself the truth!

What nice tunes the harp sings, when I tell myself the truth!

The End

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