The Truth

It was hidden behind a facade 

It was the tree lost in the wood of lies

I was blind to it, didn't want to hear it

Even closed my ears and eyes

And stuck my head in the sand

 

But it was ferreted out, it was winkled out

And prized apart like an oyster to reveal its pearl

It was weighed in the hand, on the scales of justice

It has been weighed against the purest gold

And found to be of perfect carat

It has the clarity of a diamond

It shines a light, but not through a prism,

It does not dance like an ephemeral rainbow

It stands tall, but is often hard to pin down

It changes shape or appears to sometimes

But in reality it never changes at all

It is fact incarnate

It is the living flesh of an idea of man

But then women know it

As too a child can

It requires, like the pearl, grit to make it stick

Courage to tell it

the balls to speak it

But like a weight-lifter's load

It is a relief to get it off your chest

And often involves fits of tears

And smeared make-up and tissues

In hospital waiting rooms

Or beside beds

It is pure,

It is the most valuable treasure we own

Yet it cannot truly be sold

Because when this is tried it disappears

Below the fold

To others it is a tradable commodity

Because someone will pay top dollar for it

But when they have it, they only wish to hide it again

And cover ups are cheaper when they are smoked

With a pack of lies

It is like a ticking bomb then, liable to explode

In their hands

Or like a burning match it will burn the fingers

Of the one holding it, yes, it is sometimes fire

And sometimes ice, because they die with it.

They take it to their graves.

And then the trail runs cold, 

But if we let ourselves sell the truth so cheaply

We sell with it our souls.

It comes out in the wash

With the dirty linen

It is the skeleton in the closet

To be discovered by the bin men

It is told in halves, in pieces of a puzzle

It is hinted at by clues or by fingerprints on a muzzle

It sometimes can seem dark, though often loud as a dog's bark

And like a dog with bone at play, it too must have its day

 

It is free to everyone whether a king or a slave,

Yet it can cost the earth, or it can cost a close shave,

It can slip from your hands when you don't watch it

You must keep your eye on the ball, you must be brave

It is the writing on the wall, it is the writing on your grave

It is truth and most of all if you speak it then someone’s life you might save