Inconceivable

When days of allegory are passed, as simile no longer applies to singularity
And fact alone bends not to whimsy
Beyond all labels, behind even our interpretation
Where we are left (or begun)
With only what is real; what is ultimate

To stare truth dead in the face
In all of its sickening majesty.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: truth
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