The Truth About Reality
"My years have never been acquainted to--
a fetching flower with so smooth a base,
nor have they seen such petals boldly blue,
and thus no right have they to spurn your grace."
"I can't accept your praise, for you should know,
with such a countenance I was not born.
Do understand, my cast is that of snow,
my slender stem-- a stalk of horrid thorn."
"Preposterous: who'd don their own neglect?
What does one gain through such abrupt deceit?
I know the things my eyes and hands detect:
or have the tangible betrayed Concrete?"
"Reality's perceived at truth's expense,"
(so said the bloom he had or hadn't sensed.)
Copyright © Michael Perriatt | Year Posted 2010
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