The Truth on the Tongue
by Geoffrey Heptonstall

The truth is not yet in sight,
nothing to be seen by human eyes.
In a room where there is no-one
every sound resonates,
the pulse of time perhaps,
or the scurrying of fear.

Not every truth is well told.
The stain may be mistaken
for blood’s embittered rage
in a shattering and a scattering.
The glass in your hand contains the wine
that holds the truth on every tongue.

Words loosened from care
come rolling down the hill
until they touch reality
that is an empty glass.



 

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