The Truth

The truth sometimes
simply sits
before our faces,
but we don’t see that it is there.
Sometimes it is covered, disguised,
and we don’t take
time or effort
to uncover it; to look,
and to see.
The truth sometime seems too simple,
and sometimes too far fetched,
And outlandish, to believe.
The truth sometimes masquerades
or is represented as a lie,
but more frequently,
a lie masquerades as truth.
The truth can only be discerned through observation, and meditation,
And not completely by intellect.

Intellect is too fragile,
too subject to influence,
and filter.
The truth is perceived
often by a few and not by many,
Although many will.
Only true teachers,
and prophets speak the truth, because it is their purpose. Lawyers, doctors, politicians, scientists, filter the truth through their profession, and their rules, At best a profession can only relate the truth in broken pieces.
The truth is a whole.
The truth is a palindrome,
and a special anagram.
It says and means the same thing, whether it is read forward or backwards, or whether rearranged,
regardless of the frame of reference.
The truth is best related by a parable,
as a reflection is cast in a mirror, from the most minute detail,
to the most encompassing,
and largest form.
The truth is a mirror.
The truth can be inconvenient,
But ultimately it is convenient.
The truth can be tucked away and hidden,
but the truth,
will always remain the truth,
Whether perceived or not.

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Frida

Frida

imageYou came
Last night
a dark shadow,
As all wandering
Souls do
since Eurydice
In floating cones
and cylinders.
Your presence
Unfelt since
Wandering
The blue walls
And easels
Of your existence,
An
Eye In the place of
The coyotes.
Your flowered
Flowing
Beauty,
A Nocturnal Black
Graced with
hanging
Silver,
Flesh held in place
By rods of steel
And torture,
By the things
That eased your pain:

*Love,

*Pigment,
red as blood
From the back
Of Trotsky’s head
Or from ears cut
by Aztecs warriors,

*Two beds to rest in,

*And your
tiny
Prayerful
Lily white devotions
Crucified on walls,

A Maternal fabric
Behind glass walls
Caged.

A gift sealed in bedrooms.
for certain times.

The cathedrals
And Cortez’s bed
Lie In the place
of Aztec ruins
By your side
In moonlight .

https://m.youtube.com/watch?t=29&v=ou0EOcpdJm4