It Was A Very Nearly Lie Poem by Ben Partenay

where all seeds grow within without
whatever may sat there to pout
and rest in silence as the sun
told stories of the things he’d done

while everything was this and that
and worlds went by while whatever sat
the trees began to dream of truths
but bore whatever useless fruits

the red green apples tasted sky
and purpled pears began to lie
and man begat what words he could
from twisted branches made of wood

whatever he was, was made of gold
or so the story has been told
or so these words have twisted round
like sighs that settle, lonely, down

he was a mountain than a cloud
he was whatever wasn’t loud
and heard the wind and silent breeze
learn to lie from the orange leaves

whatever he was, a man or beast
a tiny pea at a wedding feast
who heard the fork lie to the spoon
who swore he heard it from the moon

he watched seeds grow within without
block the sun and spread their doubt
and tried to pick these clever weeds
but roots grow deeper than the seeds

this part is true, or maybe not
like stories of the stones that talked
like all things whispered quietly
whatever may got up to leave

it was a very nearly lie
that everything flew by and by
and whatever was left of right and wrong
was made into a lilting song

where all the ever dreaming trees
fell down the mountains breaking knees
and all the truths of men fell out
from pockets sewn with threads of doubt