Day Sixteen
A truth is not nailed down
Pick one up and run with it
Turn it over in your hand
Like sea glass. Hold up
The prism of it; see, they are
Never a lonely hue. Seldom unitary.
Truths are neither liquid, gas nor solid.
They are not that which can be told
In press conferences or boardrooms.
They are, perhaps, liminal spaces
And not a spot to linger.
Truths disappear, sometimes,
When you flick on the fullbeams.
Not convenient or durable
Not painless (truth hurts) but
Vanishingly hazardous to health.
If you hold a rare mineral truth
You'll see; It's not for secreting away
And it's not an exhibition.
A truth is never what you think,
Especially to the unfamiliar other.
No barred window,
Nor a despot, entrenched,
And a truth is all of these things
And none of them.
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