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Truth
by Alison McKenzieWhen you say “red”,
A particular image of pixels and depth
Come together to form the very impression
Of what you know to be “red.”
The same thing happens to me,
Only, if you could take a snapshot
Of each image, yours and mine,
And set them side by side for comparison,
Would illumination show them to be
Replicas, one of the other?
And when the words that tell my story
Are different than your disclosure
Of the same events,
Which case for truth will win?
I am weary of it all,
The stark renditions that do not match,
Each player clinging to their own versions,
And casting the lots of karma
Into frigid shadows of void.
And I’m not sure what will happen,
Having lost faith in honor,
No longer believing in the power of anything,
Not even the records of my own diary
Written in the language of my eyes,
The music of my ears,
And the pen held by all the years of one life.
What is a lie, that the evil there
Should burn my home and peace,
Until nothing is left of faith,
And hope has evaporated
From every one of my horizons?
There is no satisfactory retribution,
No way to ease the dysfunction of those hands
Squeezing the breath of Truth
Until no life remains,
The stolen tomorrows of it
Laid to rot on a fetid wind.
04/03/2010 Author's Note: It's difficult not to draw the ugly pictures of some very bitter conclusions about what my life has been about.
Posted on 04/03/2010
Copyright © 2024 Alison McKenzie
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Julie Adams on 04/03/10 at 02:04 PM the difficulty to which you refer in your note only adds to the power of the piece, the courage, the baring it all, the questions you ponder are one's people can identify with on one level or another, so by posting it, this piece shares a piece humanity...kudos brave poet...so many great images, lines, breaks, but the subject and the ideas offer a flesh and bone to it all...ur a talent, thank you for sharing...peace, jewels |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 04/03/10 at 03:28 PM We are hardest on ourselves, Alison. In time, you will come to see it wasn't so bad, and neither were you. Also: your judgments and observations, which you scorn now, were very keen. Apart from that, this is a powerful poem. It hit me where I used to live. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 04/03/10 at 07:08 PM You remind me with this powerful piece how differently each one sees a specific event, and it continues to amaze me that that is so. I hope you can hold onto what is true for you, and honor yourself. |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 04/03/10 at 09:47 PM ...oaths are but wind and wind but words. ala Samuel Johnson, your loving/appreciation for the human existence causes you to share...many times all and that's what makes you - you. and i, tho' different have been enslaved in a world that caters not to my ideas of good, fair, good-for-the-goose-is-good-for-the-gander...so i continue to hope eternal, even if someone says they'll be there at 6, a part of me will still BE THERE at 6, knowing with my gray matter that they'll be there later. wish i weren't that way, but tsk tsk i am. love your warpath dance on [the costs of] love. |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 04/04/10 at 03:57 PM ... an exceptional write..... |
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