Today is National Poetry Day in Great Britain. In honor, I shall post a poem.
Truth burns with the light of a thousand suns
Beautiful as Hell, tortuous as a clear day.
In the hands of a liar, Truth screams and twists,
cutting the wielder as well as the listener.
Honest people fear Truth as much as the wicked.
It makes no distinctions, offers no quarter.
Truth may seem comforting,
until its cold heat shines on your own heart.
Yet even Truth quails and bolts
when asked, "Does this make me look fat?"
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