The Battle for Truth

All true greatness runs as level a course, and is as unaspiring, as the plow in the furrow. It wears the homeliest dress and speaks the homeliest language. - Thoreau

innocent spectator

complicit bystander to life

these things that should not be

victim of happenstance

ruler of an empty, meaningless, isolated reality

who keeps moving the cheese

causing me to both question and believe

things i cannot conceive

thing i fail to perceive

maybe the poets are right

emotion is all there is

holding me prisoner

extracting an expensive toll

verses and stanzas that rock and roll

titles that collect dust and grow old

maybe the robed priests are right

love is all there is

but why does it forsake me

only loneliness holding my hand

gripping it tightly

refusing to let go

perhaps the politicians are right

money and power paving the way

greasing the skids

skids that lose control and crash

hotel rooms, tape recorders, empty bottles and holders of cigarette ash

maybe the music makers have it

compelling rhythm and melody king and queen

causing eyes to grow wide and dream

liberating beats causing feet to move

souls to groove

nothing to gain or prove

to the victor go the spoils

but tell me which are the true spoils

tell me when i've won

blow out the candles on this frosted cake under a hot sun

tell me when this battle is over and done

.

Author's Note

"A lady once offered me a mat, but as I had no room to spare within the house, nor time to spare within or without to shake it, I declined it, preferring to wipe my feet on the sod before my door. It is best to avoid the beginnings of evil." - Thoreau