Truth is truth, excepting the occasions when it is not.
My Truth is not my friend’s truth,
Not my father’s truth, my child’s.
Truth can only be expressed in words. Relative and poorly constructed.
And words are fallible, unstable, misused and abused.
Words are no more than signs and symbols,
Signifiers of a subjective existence.
A Childs’ game of categories, to compartmentalise a continuum.
Words change, expand and contract, as endlessly they shift
As grains of sand on a beach.
There is no truth in a dictionary, every word a lie.
Words cannot be what they seek to represent,
They cannot transcend.
“Ceci n’est pas une pipe.”
Truth is the trick of a conjuror, the white rabbit
No longer in the hat. With Sleight of Hand our daylight truths
Become in darkness, our deepest fears.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,
And the Word was God” but my God is not yours,
Real truth lies only with the Omnipotent.
And what treasons are committed in the treachery of a word.
Innocence slain, commands, orders, and just cause for the belligerent.
Give your life only for love.
“Verum esse ipsum factum” – All truth is a lie.
© John Bullock 2013
Journalist, Editor & Writer