The Truth Rolls On

A ceaseless exhibition that stings, Amongst matchless marvels on world screens, A pleuritic pain to my soft breath it brings, Subtle slight pulses caught in baleful scenes. A blooming rushed pseudo sketch, Like a snap in harsh lights at a clumsy stretch, False fury flows through spectators’ veins, With replays, the cloud of claims still rains. The loud, jarring noise engulfs the lone truth in flight, The sleeping streets stir at looming blight, An unfairly tale, in ink it seals— An art too stubborn for truth to repeal. Whether the clear lines finally chime, The intense stormy atmosphere claims the rhyme, An erosive strong wind whirls the hail falls, But a wonderful nature it remains, bravely it rolls.