Truth has gone the way of white bread.
The last ingredient on a mass produced label
Far behind “Agenda” and “Special Interest”
Stretched and distorted with it’s own special sulphates
Truth has become an ancient dialect
There’s merely an inflection hinted at in some words
An accent or a spelling….but never the root.
Only a distant memory of a people that once spoke it
Did they really exist?
There’s stories taught to children
The greatest men of a new land risked all to stake it’s claim
Generations fought and died to preserve it.
There’s only speculations of
“How did it die?” “When did it die?”
It is no wonder no one understands it.
There are only the ridiculous few who believe that it exists
In small inner circles, we seek it out
And know it’s not in the bloated intentions of the status quo
Where there has never been any sightings