Thursday, August 2, 2012


Truth has been murdered, I know,
I have visited her grave many times now.
There she lies beneath a weeping willow tree,
Drenched in a world of tears.
There was a time when Truth was strong and lovely.
Composers wrote songs about her
And poets extolled her virue in odes.
She was bursting with light and hope.
When was that ? Where was that ?
So long ago, but I remember.
Truth has been murdered, I know,
But I remember her living,
Dancing in meadows of daisies,
To the music of birds.
And no one laughed at her.
But Truth has been murdered, I know,
For many years, I searched for her,
I appealed to powerful people in high places,.
Those seated on their thrones
Told me she was somewhere else.
So I went somewhere else,
I asked everyone else.
But everyone gave me the same answer,
"Truth is not here,
Look over there."
My quest went on for years, days and nights.
But I could not find Truth anywhere.
She was missing, along with her partner, Justice.
"Not  my responsibility", they all said.
"Not my jurisdiction", they all said.
"Look somewhere else." they all said.
Then, one day I was passing a small park,
And I stopped to rest.
I sat in the tall grass and hummed a sweet old song,
As I often do.
And a bird sang back from the willow tree,
And it said to me,
"Look here. Here lies Truth."
And there beneath the wands of the willow,
I saw the small brass marker.
Quite obscure among the blades of grass.
And the marker read,
"Here lies Truth,
Murdered by Lies.
But who cares ?"
Phyllis Carter,
Montreal, Quebec, Canada
August 2, 2012

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