Liar

The truth is always a lie
In the face of reality
It is a fragile matter of futility
In a word
Both grow side by side like mushrooms
Sound the same if given the right name
Heard only by one person soon to be announced
Soon enough
Her name is Mary                                                                                      
Known only to herself and others 

The truth stands solid against illusionist
Conjured up in prestidigitation’s magic
Other stuff too, too difficult to allude to
Insinuate or mention in this passage
But lets get back to Mary 

She has the answers…really…. with perfect clarity
Certainty is a certain part of truth 
But a fraction of that, which is a lie, resides

The lie is a factual tale saved in its place
Kept in a lock box out of harms way                        
Along side the lie lays truth
They make a perfect couple
An unholy alliance of each other
Guess who has the key in case it matters

Mary started the first fire
Invented it along with all other things 
(Except the internet...that was Al Gore....He thinks...)

She created the fire of enlightenment
Sticks her hand in it as proof
It does not burn according to her matches
They stand witness to her youth and beauty
And never strike before the covers closed

Friends confront her with the truth
Fire hurts
She laughs at their insanity
Calls them liars, immature

Sanity is on her side with truth and lies
Locked up in that compact box 
Fermenting like mushrooms together 
She brings them out for drinking exercises late
Exchanging telephone numbers, identities
Intellectual ideas are then debated

Interchangeable in their nature and meaning
They get drunk and stay together    
Determined to win they fall asleep

Mary Wakes up with truth and lies in bed
Hung over, they both look the same to her
She questions, “Do I know your names?” 
“Have you heard a word I've said?”
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

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