I came across this piece I’d written almost forty years ago and was quite prepared to relegate it to my personal slush pile or trash it. But, I do believe, we’re all rather attached to our own creations so I didn’t. Then at one of our poetry meetings David Hollywood asked us to write a poem about justice and present it at the following meeting. Since this was my own creation albeit many years before, I decided to read it to the group. And now I offer it to you. I’m curious, does it in any way give away the difference in age?
What is truth?” said jesting Pilate
As he mocked the Prince of Peace
The saddest fact that now remains
The scorner’s sentiment’s increased
And ‘truth’ having gone through much change
Now goes around in guises strange
‘Fact’ is one; a point of view
Stripped of feelings, it’s sight-perfect
Oft taken out of context too.
But ‘fact’ remains the undisputed
Champion of the truth
It is, it was and shall remain
The journalist’s and historian’s holy grail.
And then we have the psychologists
Truth’s ever-hopeful optimists
Defence lawyers and statisticians
Twisting methodology to suit
Their hypotheses and for the Truth
They tout their figures
And they shout their numbers
And they clout their readers
With their graphs and charts and medians
Ad nauseam, ad tedium
But you’ll never find that perfect person
To fit their demographic portrait
No you’ll never find that perfect person
To fit in their straitjacket
You’ll also never ever find the Truth
In all that static.
And so we stand with jesting Pilate
More confused than cynical
And with him we ask the question
The hard, the harder, hardest question
‘What is Truth?’
And in our hearts we search for answers
But our hearts are only human
And for all we think we’re capable
We are all so, also fallible.