I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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In A Madman's Act

This scissor’d century,

Ribboned and strewn between the wars

Where I was born, wrung from ancience’ youth

To crawl fist-first along the paralleled

Instant of my mortal toil:

An accidental hero -

I lassoed the thief that stole the sun -


Who walks with clouded steps

Along the path of wind between the ends

Of time to find the hour of our inception;

Meteoric and monumental moment

When prospered faith, spring prevailed.

The famine from creation’s fruit

Died its eunuch death.


The oceans of my birth,

Crystal-crested by the eternal eye

Of Dawn’s omnipotent consecration;

The flooding force of her burning pupil

That in a madman’s act I held,

Then felled the tree that gave me shade –

A half-truth; a whole lie.