Gavin

What is Truth?

What is the truth that some minds evade?

Wanting the counterfeit so it must persuade.

Is it all good, wholesome and true?

Or is it just the essence we pursue?

 

Do we delight when it comes to show?

Depending on the discussions flow.

Can it be forsake in whole or part?

Would you see it if all is dark?

 

Is it in view if it stands by itself?

Or rely on the place it's put on the shelf?

Or is it diluted by facts and lie?

Or is it the one you need to supply?

 

The searching of truth is a dangerous attempt,

Was burnt away as heretic contempt.

And haunts it's sons in consuming fire,

And also unawaredly burns the liar.

 

It's betrayed by fools in flattering King and Lords,

And it can lose in battle by the sharper sword.

It hears itself twisted by pleaful knaves,

And be chained itself when it pacifys slaves.

 

If it's ever in need, to the discerned it will come,

But if its hidden, the deceived will succumb.

The ensared beg the question and answer themselves.

Yet it will only credit the asker's wealth.

 

It flees the simple and is revered by the wise,

It dies with the meek and rots with pride.

It's held hostage by the learned that've been taught

That they bought the honour of winning discourse.

 

What was the cost in what you believe?

It certainly agrees with how you perceive.

Was it the easiest truth to be found?

Or the one that you thought most profound?

 

It's paraded on show, it educates fools.

It's corrected when we update our tools.

It rewrites science when we discover the truth

And then goes out of date when we can reproof.

 

It's heard everywhere so we must believe,

But there's too many versions for all to conceive.

It's honesty here says that I don't know

Is it the one that I choose to grow?

 

Is it bold moments before death? 

Does it grow cold on its last breath?

Has it fully been expressed before kings?

And persecute the messenger whom it brings?

 

Can it be known if it's old as time?

Far-reaching and obscure yet still be defined.

Does its own weight collapse the lies?

And gravitate to itself before it dies?

 

Can it be true, if you don't want to hear?

Has it ever grew when waters weren't clear?

How can it be measured? According to what?

But by each and every action in lifes plot?

 

To each twist and turn in everyone's affairs

In black, white and grey, it glistens and glares.

It is costly to lose and it's precious to hold

And it's elusive to most, while it's painfully bold.

 

Truth is too big for our feeble minds,

That's how falsehood easily binds,

Every new option it exponentially grows.

And the truth is carried away when the wind blows.

 

It's always a victim to those who dont know.

And it often kills those who can show.

It cries in the dark and rocks itself in peril.

Also charms us in part, by those who are feral.

 

Does the truth forgive or dismiss?

Does it rat out an accomplice?

Can it be strangled by deceipt?

Or will it render itself complete?

 

Is it a thread that needled all things?

Or been a puppet dancing on strings?

Was it ever screamed over the fields of blood?

Has it resurfaced when concealed by the mud?

 

Can it be written? Can it be told?

If it's detrimental to whom has ahold?

Does it illuminate only those who subscribe?

And will its silence be bought with a bribe?

 

Is it used as a trap to build up the ranks?

To serve the elite, media and banks?

Is it offered to those who are rich?

And does the truth cause them to be sick?

 

Is the truth a witness? To all that's been done.

Has it watched all under the sun?

Will it be found by all of our accounts?

Brought together to be held to account.

 

It's some miracle if we are still near

To the truth that the lies couldn't mis-steer.

What has guided the truth to be held

Just under the surface waiting to be yelled.



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