From War of Words

No dear, truth’s no slave to discovery, Nor needs an innovative creator, Nor in you a path-breaking inventor, It being no fiction nor a story, Forget it then, truth can’t be created On a blank page of your mind's spare diary, Conjured up nor cooked nor conceived in head, O to write later its obituary. It shall show up one day, light up a torch, And all your dark lies shall show up in light, One spark of truth’s enough all lies to scorch, Your untruth’s when buried under own blight, Till that day, here’s my signal green from red, Why spoil today’s joy for tomorrow’s dread? ________________________________________ Tongue-in-cheek, Sonnet | 05.04.2005 |