The Honest Truth

How we work the honest truth,
Shaping and conforming it
As with mindful carver’s tools
Until it looks appealing to the eye,
The lust of which is satisfied
As the conscience rests, appeased
By reason’s creativity.

We sculpt our rationalizations
So carefully, turning them over
In our manipulative hands
While regarding their beauty,
So pleasant to behold
In the light of our own will,
Even worth taking pride in.

We sell these imitations,
Using borrowed words to justify
Obvious differences in character,
Crafting our justifications lengthy
And spitting in the silent face
Of the one and only artist,
Smugly closed to His critique.

THE CHASM

Where are you while I wander
Into the wilderness
Of my own making?
Do you see it too,
The stark creation
Of imagination
With so little to show?

If I were lost here nomadic,
Would you leave me be
Or pursue and rescue?
The plain is barren and rugged,
Sharp on the feet
That do not preach
The gospel of peace.

Here there is no one to listen;
Seclusion feels familiar
In the chasm of thought,
Incapable of getting across -
Such that when I call out
To the dust and clouds
Even you do not answer.

I would shut and lock the gates
If only that would stop me
From coming here again
To search for that which was lost
Before hope betrayed,
When dreams became lies
For the foolish at heart.