by David Roderick


There is a place in time and life,
When love and peace, or war and strife,
Are roads, are sounds and symbols too,
Begun again to start anew.
These times divorce of moment grace,
Laced with lies and truth of face.
These ingots are but little gems,
Of ignorance begets, knowledge stems.
From truth of lies to lies of truth:
Our saviour's face, our devil's tooth.
Black is grey and grey is white:
The noble death; the death to might.
Mightier than sword and steel,
Words descend and do repeal,
The truth of grace, the grace of lies.
For holy, we can all despise
The noble art: the art of love.
Love of what? The thing above?
The love of truth. The flowing pot.
Bubble thing. You're all I've got.
Is love of lies, the love of truth?
All bitten by your bloody tooth.
Is love of lies, the love of men?
The love of all who wield a pen.