The one thing about truth,
Heard with it spoken.
And opposed by those,
Who dispute it exposed.
Is it's reality that steps on toes.
With a lowering of upturned noses,
Of the ones who have been taught...
Their beliefs to keep proud to value,
Not only have gaps in them...
As wide as canyons,
But to argue a purpose of their worth...
Has less significance,
Than the slingling of mud...
When dried becomes nothing but dirt.
Thrown to be blown by a forgotten wind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem