Truth isn’t truthful
Nor neither lies
How can we verify
Without pulling the wool
Over our eyes?
In point of fact
There are no points
Only passages and passings
The way of truth
Is the path of lies
White lies are
Truth’s disguise
She looks in the mirror
Sees her shadowed beauty
Seeming in the light
Not unseemly
There’s no shame in collusion
Make reality of illusion
Truly there is
Reality in illusion.
Is it not unwise
To seek what lies behind
Drawn skies?
Why look beyond
What the sun shone upon
Or in the ray, for the photon?
Mere understudies of beauty:
Verity, veracity and
Verily beguile very prettily
Authority of inscription anoints the page
By my troth,
Would not I break this oath
And be a sleuth for truth?
Peering at the sunshine’s
Perfidy, beguiles and blinds
Rather see where fall
Her bright lit thoughts.
And the pulsing stars
Only evident from sideways glances
Together with ‘their’ cohorts.
Just merely making an Archimedean point.
(So timely and ‘out of joint’).