- Vol. 05
- Chapter 12
Truth – a master sculptor
Truth,
a convoluted river
exists in the deepest of the ravine
like the glistening ends of the skies
it shines and glimmers in the darkness
/a beacon of hope/
for the crestfallen souls
when the darkness is sculpted
in our benign existence
screaming for hope
a dream so divine.
Truth,
cuts like a double-edged sword
through its serrated ends
slices the edges of the abyss,
/the irrational hem of the irrationality/
scrapes and scratches
resisting the erosion
those pointy convictions
moving ahead with time.
Truth,
an army of a zillion stars
armed with sharp pointy ends
marches with synchronicity
carving and shaping the future
with its bloody knuckles
and its ferocity.
Truth – a master sculptor
Truth,
a gaping mouth of the canyon
making its way from the steep walls
and the deep valleys
brings the shimmering piece
of the cerulean skies
longed by the bleary eyes
stuck in the ashen core of
the shared abyss,
our twisted reality.
Truth,
undeterred by the winds of resistance
chiseling and chipping away the lies,
carves out a masterpiece
a beauty undefined,
damning and refuting
your flagrant lies.
Truth, a master sculptor in disguise.