Troth

Why's your jaded tongue so slyly used
To words buttered with ensnaring tone; 
Piping fibs empirical proofs poorly prop,
Waxing lies into truth's patented throne? 

I with all joints and full sinews distrust
Grandiose jibes oiled by your tired lips; 
And luckily mock all façades and crust
With which you gild your tempting trips. 

No backing writs your warping crafts
Uphold with faintest discernible facts; 
Nor do your self-blotting points agree
With any of the truth-tied deities three.

And not for tons of pleasure-lilied wiles 
May I in dream your baiting tunes sing; 
And neither for gain of full cosmic clout
Might my soul fall for your deking miles.

Man's indeed contented heart only craves
Pure verity as passed by its martyr slaves.

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