Easy does it when you try
separating fact from fiction.
Remnants of a blatant lie
justify an interdiction.
Things are seldom what they seem;
faith felt genuine, but was it?
While arousing from a dream,
easy does it.
In my childhood I believed
truth’s as black and white as painted,
unaware that few perceived
shades of grey in sweetly sainted
sentries of unripened minds.
Playing nice, I learned a smile could
cover certainty that blinds,
in my childhood.
Far above us, pundits pounce;
preachers prime the Sunday sermon.
Both are eager to denounce
scrutiny from lowly vermin.
Truth lies halfway through the mist
where denuded dogma hovers.
Yours and mine can coexist
far above us.
2014 Mary Boren
View discussion.