The truth is there
in the morning dew, the evening mist,
in the careful tread of the deer
in the curled bud of a rose.
The truth is in beseeching hands,
reaching from the waves.
The children with death in their eyes tell it best,
and the mighty forest, no more than a raw scar.
The truth is in the melting icecaps,
the cows that never walk on grass,
the children forced to take up arms
and kill parents and siblings.
The truth points its finger at us
every minute of every day,
its dance macabre darkening the noonday sun,
empty ribs casting shadows on the sand,
on the pavements, on our faces,
but we are what we are—
none so blind as those who will not see.
I have just read a thread of tweets about the Sandy Hook massacre that has filled me with disgust. Excuse me if I vomit in public, but amid the stream of messages of remembrance, parents mourning dead children and hopes that something will one day change, was the denier thread.
There really are people in this sad world who will post their ‘well-researched findings’ that prove that Sandy Hook never took place, that it was a sham to gain credit for the anti-gun lobby, that one of the fake victims was later seen standing next to President Obama at a meeting. Anyone who sympathises with that ‘opinion’ is invited to not voice it on this blog.
I read some words drawled from a deep, dark hole,
Denying that those children really died,
Fake news, he said, to crush the nation’s soul.
I read those words drawled from a deep, dark hole,
Just to wring out tears, make church bells toll—
Our rights, our guns, he said, the truth denied,
With poisonous words that crawled from out his hole,
Fake news that would crush any human soul.