Facts or Fiction …
The truth is like water, and people like boats,
vessels are essential to keep it afloat.
Sufficient the story to captivate most
to charter a limerick of spirit and ghost.
Engrossed in the gimmick of gods and of men
The rationale questioned at times and again
But lessons of legend endured over time,
are threatened rejection by a new paradigm.
Expound how it’s real if my eyes won’t conceive,
or if the exculpations are why we don’t believe?
The foundation retrieved envisaged in worth
The pathway of the righteous, inculcated at birth.
But the method is dated and the facts are awry,
Erroneous are the ways how they were applied.
Bestride with astrologers, the dutiful ilk,
The poor box disseminated smoother than silk.
Created were the divergent, their basis defined,
rationality their sword, their target, mankind.
With their facts now aligned to their war on beliefs
as though, through their means, they provide some relief.
Displeased with the notion of impalpable might,
the way that their fancies are still taking flight.
Despite all the morals and ethics since taught
to the site of all virtue, where battles are fought
If rubrics of edict were never produced,
Would pragmatics prevail or fall by the noose.
Excuses are made when ideologies clash
Biogenic delusions composed in a dash.
Though rash, the conclusion is riddled in doubt,
Duplicitous the schemes as they try to reroute.
With the lines drawn out, as fact becomes fiction,
The corruption exhibits the flaw in the mission.
The system engenders depictions of wisdoms,
As hierarchies are sanctioned for factions and schisms
The prism is risen, mutating the mission,
And embattled positions arise in cognition.
The mind surely hindered, by broken supposition
Facts don’t bother with feelings, just robust erudition.
The submission is now, that the mind is all plastic,
molded into infinite collections of fabric.
In this vast display of fabrics, a tapestry,
one interwoven by our unconscious cadences,
some real, some fallacy, branching into different archetypes.
Nonetheless, like that famous inner birdie, they inscribe,
over and over to us in diatribes so profound,
subconsciously we accept them, as new breaking grounds,
as rationales that expound of an invisible idol,
Confounded in denial we become their disciples.
As distinct human beings, have we not the ability—
to perceive transcendent nature as part of reality?
To incorporate notions beyond our immediate scope
Is the conception inside our breadth something with which we cope?
Or is this something primordial that lives and just is,
Something we don’t understand beyond analysis.
A paragon we engender to expose for its usage,
an epiphany foreseen while the mind is still lucid.
Will science and faith ever make the connection?
Like Christians and atheists concur in reflection.
Or will manners from the table like half-eaten corn,
Fall like unconsumed knowledge, demonized and forlorn.
To the point of such pity, and doltish ripostes,
where apathetic masses are the ones left to host.
And the once robust discourse, has become just some fodder,
To the sensitive swagger that is now coined as modern.
Macabre, the new methods of cerebral engagement
Where once our brains had endeavored to be more than complacent
The pavement then was paved with those savvy to pace it.
Where words would still sting some but you realized their statement.
The facts were the facts, and the faith was the faith
And opposing perspectives never had you in swathes.
But feelings have blinded those facts and beliefs
Now we all have fallen victim to this dumbed down motif.