Oh This Frisson, Thrill of Lies

Hair gets grey, withers he but seldom wise To know why nothing thrills him more than lies, Why man’s pen portrays obscure truths in grey, Why his mind’s chisel carves out misty clout So grotesque and still called creative play… Today, truth stumbles man with sulking pout. He hails history as pursuit of past, For a peep of pulpy films whilst pays more, His fictitious pen frames up painted lore, And delves in day dreams for moments of past, Oh all for fifty shades of greyish blight, None of which reveals truth in black and white. Behind his masks, less than fair roles he plays, His grey lies live longer with lasting haze, As today’s truth angel lifelong he strives, And vacillates no less truth to uphold, Yet, crucial moment when in life arrives, An untruth called half truth O gets betold. Resolved is he: it’s fine if I’ve to pay, The message is: tell untruth, pay the price— An escape root in the realm of grey, Whilst man of truth’s done in by loaded dice. A pet patted and pampered when for long— A cat loves naught more than sing her own song. He, illusive more than a fairy elf, Likes unfair fibs that fetch him power and pelf. Most couples stay married for this reason, More commerce gets bought by the myth of lie, More nations stay friends, truths as lowly lie, And untruth blossoms well ere its season. Cruellest of lies sotto voce are said, He who said so may have reason to say, But lies do get eloquent by the day, It is the truth that suffers when muted, And in a warm company of white lies Post truth regales as wisdom of the wise. Today gets treasured under dark shadows Couched in courteous décor, not the morrows, As lies save nations from the path of war, Glibly do we admire liars that dare, And detest those that a bare truth declare, Suave, subtle lies today go shore to shore. To stick to truth is to lose hard earned lead, Cosy doth sin settle on a pedestal, Lies making it a good all-fitting handle, Do dare lie, truth’s like a wildly grown weed, Go ahead, telling truth any fool can, Managing untruth’s what makes today's man, He that can't, falls behind as also-ran, On dunghills as crackles a helpless hen. It's old fashioned to think: lies can’t live long, We need to learn: lies would live to be old, Lo, today's truth is: old age makes lies bold, In ripe old age I'm learning a new song! ______________________________________ Musings | 04.07.2012, revised Aug 2023|Ode, truth, lies