The truth, like a tossed, wind sodden grain of sand,
Misplaced in an eastern corner of the Sahara, lies undetected.
Like a diamond in a glass of shaken ice,
The truth can sink further from view, and the clutches of prayer books....
I felt the form and smeared my experience upon a wooden model of the truth,
Only for an avalanche of timber, to split my vision into many puzzled pieces.
In a flash of light the truth was temporarily exposed,
But a clap of theater and politically motivated rain, soon saw a flood of disbelief....
In natures curves and the glare of youth, the truth was accessible,
Only for the design of industry to blur the steady lines.
In an honest tear, the truth bubbled with intense joy,
Only for acidic pollution to weaken its strength....
In an extended shadow, stretched over the hills,
The truth left an artistic impression....
Only for gluttonous clouds to spill envy
over the fields of discovery...
A suspected lie, cloaked in robes and blackened face,
Steps closer to the flickering light, presenting the truth.
Before the balance of courts could pass sentence,
A cruel wind invites a darker place, for darker intentions....
The truth stumbles drunk, in a maze of chiseled hedges,
Falling over 18th century ideals and down the servants quarters stairs....
As the masters bell sounds, like a liquid absorbed,
The truth is now a ghost left to roam the dust and printed pages of a grand library....
It may not be knowing truth but actively seeking the light,
And poking a torch into the darker recesses of the human condition....
© Copyright 2016 Philip H20s. All rights reserved.
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