It is as if the things you think you want aren’t the right things when they arrive unannounced.
You ask for more truth,
yet steps closer to apparent transparency
betray the desire to stay the same,
inundated in antiquity, civility.
Words dripping with unclarified truth —
an opaque waste of baste
based on what you once swore
was how things ought to be.
You do not listen.
I do not listen.
There is no concession.
Instead, discouragement is sought.
To what end is the “truth” that was fought
so long and hard, that peace is so disturbed
and takes flight; never to land in near proximity.
Peace can be reached,
but it cannot be caged.
Iron wrought with rage,
Like tears on a wet page.
Though structural similarities may maintain,
It is warped, changed, and will never be the same.
And so it spirals, persisting on the path
that which aims to end, yet sets in motion again
an ever-evolving end.