Truth
Fig for nuance, you plant the pole
arbitrarily and wrap yourself around it,
round and round the pole.
Breath dissembles. These my lungs
used to drawing in fog. These my eyes
accustomed to polished silver.
Sight deceives.
Oh, but staid and solid mortal sword
of truth and justice and the holy jihad
you haven’t the pebbled shoe most
halt to examine.
You were born without it.
Unlike the truth of truths,
folded threnody under stone.
![[caedmonscall.net]](http://rmfo-blogs.com/images/ccneticon.jpg "The quasi-official fan site of Caedmon’s Call.")
![[derekwebb.net]](http://rmfo-blogs.com/images/dwneticon.jpg "The official fan site of Derek Webb.")
![[rmfo-blogs.com]](http://rmfo-blogs.com/images/rmfoblog.png "About the [rmfo-blogs] service.")
[...] Even though I don’t really know Marlene or Mark that well, it was good to be there, and inspired this little poem. That is, in fact, the first baptism I’ve consciously attended (rather than just happening to [...]
July 26th, 2007 at 8:08 am