Truth

Canisters filled with many words,
Words that tell a story of truth.
Truth exists within this mind of tales,
full of wind, rain, fire, and hail.
A storm exists in the real world,
its cyclonic cycle proliferates the vengeance.

Was it due to the one or the two?
It seems both contracted the noose,
He and she will not make it through.
IN the end, so we the young are scripted,
reason and logic confirm the toll;
if we take the life of another,
we save our societal soul.

So it was not just the life of any,
nay, it was that of the other.
An enemy indeed,
An enemy through which we-
have control over the weather.
The storm of chaos rises but falls,
for we are wiser than the ancient ones,
we know the blame is not on us at all.

Even the angels are on our side,
dropping bolts of lightning from the sky,
modern contraptions from which no one can hide.
Do we make it rain, do we make them cry?
Our father told us we were ok,
that our world was heading and moving toward the good.
But our mother knows better,
She tells us father’s mood was wrong,
and certainly certainty is no longer our food.

But power is real,
just like in the storm.
If we no longer kill for the greater good,
we do it then only because we should.
In nature alone we see the strong prevail,
the weak do not survive,
melting like the hail.

The evil fire consumes us,
but not for too long.
The sirens sound and the water comes,
justice will be repaid and there will be calm.
Although uncertain for sure,
this is the way the world is.
Since in accident we came by birth,
so too in accident we cease to breathe.
The life of another is the same,
and our storm like power makes us free,
and this all by accident as you see.

But what of the wind?
This force unknown, unseen.
At times its destruction is felt,
deep within our society.
Yet, in other eras,
its beauty cools the face and time.
But there is no longer good,
therefore, no longer beauty.
What is truth?

Canisters filled with many bodies,
lives that tell an ever true story.
Truth exists in this person, we’re told;
it’s full with narrative in fiery gold.
A gift exists in this present world,
its offer exonerates us from the need.

Should we seek two to blame?
Life can be given and death relinquished.
Our stealthy seeking causes loss in the game.
In the end, new creation changes us all.
By faith love confirms magnificently tall;
if we give our life away for the other,
we save our global soul.

So it was not our lives we sought preserved,
nay it was that of the other.
An enemy indeed,
An enemy through which
we gifted forgiveness on an altar.
The gift of life comes and goes,
we look to the past in introspective ways,
for from it we can escape the coming woes, the coming days.

Even the angels desire to see,
dropping curiosity from the sky,
lives beautifully and wonderfully free.
Do they make it plain, Do they make us clean?
Our Father tells us we are in delight,
he promises us a world that is being made right.
Our mother follows through and knows all poor,
she told us Father’s mood was grace,
And mercifully mercy follows us all the more.

But power corrupts,
unlike the gift.
We no longer kill in any place or form,
for today we embrace those kingly-majestic thorns.
In teaching anew we see the meek,
the earth and all is becoming theirs,
like the mountains that never cry unfair.

The evil day awaits us,
so we sing a suffering song.
We wait not for help to come,
for resurrection is written on our palms.
In mystery our sight,
this is the world to come.
Since in providence we came by birth,
so too in providence we cease to breathe.
The lives of our enemies are the same,
and our childlike gifted love makes us free,
and this all by providence as you see.

But what of the Son?
This force known and seen.
At times his terrifying love is felt,
deep within our world.
Yet, in other eras,
His beauty cools the face and the plight.
There is always good,
therefore, always beauty.
Truth.

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