The Qwause with a Glass Head

They said, “My dear, you’re the greatest!”
They said, “My word, how I hate this!”
The same ones said, “Make it blue!”
And, “Should have used a peachy hue!”
And, “We never said! Untrue! Untrue!”
They said and said and said and said. And said.
Then there was the Qwause with his glass head
Who let you see his thoughts instead
Of guessing at the buried roots
Of all this saying whatever suits
Ourselves, but truthfully pollutes.
From the brain to the lips
There are lots of little blips,
Those meant and slips and trips.
The glass head of the Qwause offered a dominion
Of untouched, honest opinion.
(Now, there’s a marvelous debate
On whether what others think creates
A help or hindrance to our finer fates.
Goodness knows, I feel few greater hates.)
When you went to the Qwause, you got what he thought,
Not what you wanted, not what you ought,
And some can handle honesty, some cannot.
One day one came with a question but also brought
The honored answer that they sought.
The glass head of the Qwause lit up white hot
With an answer honest but unloved
And found himself in free fall before knowing he was shoved.
His head stayed true to glass and shattered,
Every bit of honesty scattered,
Honesty sadly never since seen,
With one push gone to smithereens.
But that sort of honesty is hard to discard.
A lucky few found themselves Qwause glass shards
And made them into lamps that guard
The way for the honesty starved.