Home / Poetry blog / THE TRUTH

The truth will always be the truth.

Everyone has individual truths.

Many are the diversities of life as there are truths.

Many share a belief, values, and principles

Many mighty truths don’t overpower the truth.

There are many standing truths.


A truth may be a discreet Ruth.

It may be a continual buzz sleuth.

It may be that we fade in the truth

It may blend into daily activities

Such as sounds of life and youth.

No matter how hidden, the truth is the truth.


You may fade out of the truth.

One says the earth’s crust is at Duluth,

One says the round earth is the go to standard of truth,

One says the earth is flat – it is unreasonable to hover like a bat!

It doesn’t change the truth.

You may do as you wish, contrary to the truth.


Rally people to shared agreements and beliefs at a booth

Create a standing ovation with colossal speeches lying through your tooth.

Create a system to twist it, change it, tire of it and burn people at the tollbooth.

Create a way to silence and bury it,

But it’s unexpected how it comes – the truth.

It will crawl out; burst out as a crazy tornado, hence the truth.


Kiss your cheek and bite your tongue with your tooth.

It will come as your friend, a singing drunkard – stringing truth.

It will come stringing your soul, as a hook clashing against your truth.


You cut out the truth from your soul with pincers so that you are dead and walking.

Your heart is dead and red with pumping sinews of disregard.

Your spirit is weak and your flesh is free, firmly placed on the ground.

Yet, you must have your way in the blind of light.

Your sclera is filled with dust of lust with a diluted pupil – dark in the dark.


The voice of the truth is a monstrosity – soft and old, crawling out so unannounced that its appearance is not only startling, but unsightly. The voice of truth is the thud of stone against the stem of a hardened tree:

Thud… thud… thud… of a woodpecker, making holes that rupture your soul, as a soft grunt reveals a tree lacking a core, so can a man wander without his soul?


If you do not come to the truth, the truth will come to you. The monstrosity has a wet, venomous tongue, slurping across your skin – you have obsessive compulsive disorder!

You retch, scrubbing your flesh: off with the dead cells…. to the new layers, past the nerve endings for pain and pleasure. You start to scream, but the saliva of truth is slipping down your muscles and your sinews.

You must scrub that off too!

It is Hell inside and out, when you screech in agony and scrub on – washing away the disgusting smoothness of the tongue of truth on your bone.

You bleed to death, but your spirit has been eaten by your twisted beliefs and so called shared values and doomed principles. So, you pull out your robust flesh to see a sad fatty tatter.

In your soul holds an empty hole, detached from the truth:

Black, foul soul

The delicious aroma of the stench is so overpowering that it beacons to the cankerworms and caterpillars – fat, round, sightless things heeding to the call of smell – lacking head, lacking feet.

They come to bite and suck their fill of your well prepared feast of your lived life that held no ounce of the truth.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.