The Truth

The Truth

by Olav H. Hauge

The truth is a shy bird

A roc

flying outside time,

sometimes before,

sometimes after.

Some say there’s

no such thing,

those who have seen her

say nothing.

I have never though of truth

as a tame bird,

but if she were

you could well stroke her feathers

and not frighten her into a corner till

she turns owlish eyes and claws against you.

Others say truth

is a cold knife-edge,

she is both

yin and yang,

the snake in the grass

and the little wren who rises from the eagle

when the eagle thinks he’s highest,

And I have seen

truth dead:

eyes like a frozen hare’s.

This entry was published on April 15, 2013 at 8:15 pm and is filed under Others´ Writings. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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