There aint but one truth, said John Grady. The truth is what happened. It aint what come out of somebody’s mouth.
-Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses
wars
and rumors of wars
and killings
and bombings
and shootings
and peace
that is nothing
but
a mirage
.
lies
and tales of deceit
and slander
and malice
and betrayal
and words
that are nothing
but
emptiness
.
ignorance
and shallow thought
and foolishness
and naivete
and banality
and ideas
that are void
of
wisdom
.
light
and shining brightness
and understanding
and truth
and hope
and peace
which passeth
all
understanding
copyright 2017, joseph e bird
Was on a late spring evening,
the air was cool and light.
I left the window open,
heard the whispers of the night.
The words arose in quiet tones,
from the sidewalk down below.
The truth’s not there for all to see,
There’re some things you can’t know.
.
Sleep came soft and gentle,
and the hours slipped away.
Till screams of horror pierced the still.
What it was, I couldn’t say.
The veil of night hides many sins,
when darkness says hello.
The truth’s not there for all to see.
There’re some things you can’t know.
.
He asked me for a dollar,
or maybe it was two.
He had to find a way back home,
his daughter had the flu.
I knew that he was lying,
but I didn’t let it show.
The truth’s not there for all to see.
There’re some things you can’t know.
.
I’ll be with you along the way,
our steps go side by side.
Though storms may blow and thunder roll,
my comfort will abide.
But wait, here comes another one,
my friendship to bestow.
The truth’s not there for all to see.
There’re some things you can’t know.
.
Fears that come in sleepless nights,
make restless in the day.
Anxious for the times to come,
we’ve nothing but to pray.
For comfort and a quiet peace,
and mercy free to flow.
The truth is there for all to see,
There’re some things we can know.
copyright 2016, joseph e bird
“The poets are wrong of course. … But then poets are almost always wrong about facts. That’s because they are not really interested in facts: only in truth: which is why the truth they speak is so true that even those who hate poets by simple and natural instinct are exalted and terrified by it.”
— William Faulkner from The Town
This is from Mark Helprin’s In Sunlight and In Shadow. Make of it what you will.
“Since his arrival in the city on his first leave, he had used a compass, which enabled him to avoid the illusory paths worn by others. You might walk west along a street or road that after gradually bending would point you north or east. Things often did not run as they promised, go where they announced, or stay constant as one believed.”
Joseph E Bird 