Dec 12 2008
The Poet Has Lied Too Many Truths
I confess dearly it is far too close
To give up the dawn for half-a-penny moon
Nothing sounds not more than a cause
When a poet stops to kill the mocking bird just as usual
When the children of the wispy smilings twinkle their too many eyes
Not to easily forget or forgive the basal length cheekbone laugh
That pays the ransom to the killers’ pogogrom power
The poet has lied too many truths
Too many truths have been beaten back to the hangman’s row
For how long one can argue over the soft killings
Of the sons and grandsons since the long ages of southpaw civilization
That has darkened too many souls in cogs of the whirring wheels
Yet the poet has worshipped the beauty of unkind truths and black shadows
As if the ecology of mind has never suffered the killing blows
Which I do confess whatever the poet has sung in hiding of mystic delight
I confess I am the poet’s pedigree with the face of a false mask
Who has lied too many truths as beauty of eternity
When all the God’s small children have eaten only some humble pie
Before going to war with the heaven’s blessings only to die.
