Is This The Only Truth?

It is tetrahedron in its dimensions, this truth, many sided and many tongued, spinning truths like the spider spins silk into already thin and then thinner strands. Many shades of truth conflate from one whole colour to another, morphing and twisting until the eye of the beholder – the holder of truth – sees new hues, shadows of greens and pinks that hint at happiness.

We have it at our fingertips, this truth. Within our grasp – but it is silent when it slips away like chiffon in the wind.

Unknowing of its form, we strive for this. Day after day we try to fashion it, shape it, make sense of it only to twist it, bend it to suit our intentions, play our hand at honesty. Two faces, nay, more. We cannot say how many. It is unending, and we ask ourselves, “Is this the only truth?”