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    submitted 14 March 2006 @ 16:09
    edited 22 October 2006 @ 12:12

Affair with Truth

Written by Jack Morris
Rating: Good (3) (3 rating, 1 ratings)

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She says, the best stuff, comes from the heart... and I say...
I'm not that sort of guy, I am no soft sensitive man, yearning to pick flowers,
write short stanza's about bubbling brooks, oh' the beauty of nature, and the miraculous...
luminescent, orange and pink glows of sunsets.

My po-ems do not sound like this, "I like flowers... Nature is great! so great! oh wow...
nature is so great! It gives us powers... to do things great... "
like to bash in peoples skulls.... hurdle babies into traffic...

For it seems to me that nature cancels out whatever benefical thing it may do...
by turning around and doing the opposite. She's a two-faced gal that girl, called nature.

I refuse to write, of tender moments of love... I'd rather write about,
the way her face looks moist... like Phoenix after a long awaited rain,
full of life and spontaniety... and just the right amount of mourning,
regret and guilt, the way her face looks moist... after I make her cry.

There's nothing like the face of a girl in tears... and while it may not be politically correct,
not the sort of thing... you might want to bring up in mixed company, or in front of freinds,
the act has evolved over thousands of years... to become a thing of beauty,
The challenge for a man to turn those frowns and pouts... into broad, exhuberant smiles.

A woman's soft face, covered in tears... a great beaming perma-grin o' happiness on her face.
That's something special.

Maybe... what she doesn't understand... is the idea, that I don't have a heart... perhaps,
it's already been ripped out of my chest, by everyday occurences,

Seeing mothers yell at their children, knowing somewhere out there...
a woman is being abused by her drunk husband, a man is being berated by a bitter woman
a wealthy individual is wasting money on pointless momentary pleasures, hoarding cash,
instead of anonymously making the world a richer and more wholesome place to live.

Two people who could have made each other's live more bare-able... stand next to one another...
on some sidewalk, or street light, and the momment comes... when they can speak...
and change the entire universe. Yet neither of them can build up the courage...
to open their mouths.

Small and large tradgedies, stacked up like pancake office buildings... pumping out more and more,
self-absorbed, narcacistic, dumber and dumber, trag-ed-ies... so easily avoided.

And... someone told me once, that all poetry, has already been written.
Laid down with feathered ink pens, before I was born... I think it would a trag-ed-ee...
if I believed it.

Yet whatever passes for a heart, inside this chest, twisting blood into the rest of my body,
feels worn, papery thin, and about to crumble at any moment.

Because, the world is messed up, here are the reasons, the images of wrong doing...
you should think about them... and let them change your perspective.

I'm going to tell you, that you are all wrong... and that I'm right, without offering any solutions,
presenting hardly any concrete evidence... or telling you how I came to my conclusions.

Yes, the world is messed up, you are messed up, and even I will admit... that I,
am messed up. We are all messed up.

The mass media... is the cause of all our woes,
rich people are the cause of all our woes,
poli-tic-ians are the cause of all our woes,
the enviroment, is the cause of all our woes,
human nature is the cause of all our woes,
our appearance is the cause of all our woes,
religion, is the cause of all our woes,
corruption is the cause of all our woes,
money is the cause of all our woes,
guns, are the cause of all our woes,
lazy people are the cause of all our woes,
our job is the cause of all our woes,
oil, is the cause of all our woes,
parents are the cause of all our woes,
bad poetry is the cause of all our woes,
burr-oc-cracy, is the cause of all our woes,
you are the cause of all our woes...
finger-pointing is the cause of all our woes,

I'm tired of all this, TRUTH, that kissing companion of mine,
decided she wanted a larger role in my life, and sleeping every night with her...
never gets old... it's always an eye opener.

I am amazed every time, I look into her eyes, for I, have fallen in love with truth.
the first words out of my mouth, was marry me, hers were, there's a church right over there,
we were wed... and on a honey-moon, in the space of sixty seconds...

And with each inter-twined kiss... I found myself coming to a realization,
followed by another... real-iz-ation, into and on... another realization...
which lead me into the realization, that I was having mul-ti-ple "Realizations"

And after each kiss, we discovered that Truth was pregnant... bringing into this world,
another child, billions of tangent and whole... concept children,
that I had no idea how I could ever take care of, it was all happening so fast,

They were popping out of her womb, like an assembly line...
because truth cuts thru to the heart of matter... with speed likened unto the movement of light,
with no understandings of time.

And I, I could not tear my lips, from that girl... the mere concept, was a horrible tradgedy,
The sight if recorded... would have made a great abstinence commerical, or perhaps...
one highlighting the need for contraceptives. A definite NEED!

Yet one cannot kiss TRUTH with rubber/plastic linings over your lips. She would'nt kiss back,
she'd probably slap you... and you'd find yourself lip-locked in delusional, lies and half truths,
cause those girls are always ready to slide in... when Truth turns her back.

Yet after these many weeks of realization, I admit I too have tired of truth,
whose been my warm snuggling companion, mother of a billion of my children...
she's one hell'uva girl, yet I simply cannot keep up with the pace,
my mind is revolting, filled to the brim with answers...
and there are oceans of used diapers, crying babies... hungry for milk,
that not even an entire dairy farm could produce.

For I have discovered that answers, to the questions... offered so quickly, and easily,
give no lasting sustenance. Nor can provide for all their produce!

Especially when not enough of those birthed children,
are called by the name of hope, courage, or motivation,
So me an truth, we've decided to spend more time apart, perhaps contemplate a divorce.

And maybe I'll think a little bit about whether "The best stuff" truly comes from the heart.



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