On the Nature of Truth
Sylvan leaves fall softly forming
fountains
In the
ether.
Golden streams flow
swiftly
Over
stone and earth
eternal. Plum trees
Blossom,
flow’ring, silent in the
mountains.
Beneath it all the
ephemeral ants,
Covert, play an endless
melody. Rain falls,
Wind blows, a
miasma settles, enthralls.
A scene so
beautiful, or a
pithy romance?
Is nature an
ultimate truth? Perfect,
Garden preserved for
all time, timeless
unfallen. For it is beautiful, true
but brutal as well. Pain remains,
taboo
Death continues its
evil reign. Unless
We view both halves we reach the
wrong verdict.
PMD (
Charles Petersen) on
5 November 2000 for
AP English.
Btw: this is my first attempt at
serious poetry...