Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction Poem by Mark Heathcote

Hate brings out the worse in us
its roots strangle others a birth.
Like they say, truth is stranger than fiction.
Look-there's-another wilting flower
-once gilded gold turning grey icy cold.

We're all pond skaters wanting to fly,
wanting to be birds angels of the sky
to be angelic - wanting to be free
but we're more-earthly,
than we ever wanted to be.

So all we do is adjudicate and reflect.
Treat everyone as circumspect?
Place their wings under a microscope.
Openly deflect, say their
-zodiac sign is an incompatible horoscope.

Or else we lie and believe we can fly,
only to have our wings-pulled-off
or falsify - we ever had a loving feeling.
… quaff we were never hung-over
that-somehow we're more truthful nobler.