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The Truth? ©

Paul Murdoch
Alexandria, Scotland

The truth is tainted here and now,
With angel’s wings that bend and bow;
To tales of earthly triumphs won
Beneath the moon and stars and sun.

The wonders of a life now spent
Are long forgotten, lost and pent.
Before the maker, cringe and toil,
Then fade away beneath the soil.

Unkempt is time and never late;
We stand before the pearly gates,
To lift our eyes and gaze upon
The Ones - that silver wings may don.

And still, I venture to unfold
The ancient mysteries of old.
That keeps us locked in endless doubt;
We stoke the fires then douse them out.

And yet I often ask myself
This pious life perused, unspoilt;
Kept clean from stains that might encroach
On salient dreams we dare approach.

Am I alone amongst the stars;
Whose spangle light shines on so far?
Or will I now, and always be,
‘Mongst those I love, eternally?

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