Questions of truth, alas become moot--
O'er angry voices, truth seldom heard
Like branches strayed from their mother root
We've strayed then planted another word,
chosen belief in the most absurd.
In times of war, truth begs to be seen,
yet trampled, however one may lean--
Torn in Viet Nam, Afghanistan,
Six O'clock fact or fiction routine:
fingers pointing at every man.
Why is truth killed when war needs it most?
That question is asked through the ages,
Perhaps lies dwell in a virus host,
Or, we need truth meted in stages,
lies bake troubled souls as war rages.
Truth rests among those--the dead of war.
Yet, we also lost truth years before.
Perhaps a new potion we'll soon find
to cure the people and kill lies' spoor
and leave its destruction far behind.
March 28, 2022
for the "Why is Truth the First Casualty of War and why is That a Fact"
by Sotto Poet
Copyright © Ann Peck | Year Posted 2022
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment