-- Soft Clay Truths --

­­John Herlihy

All my soft clay truths rarely stick,

They make an impression with little glue.

Burning thru life’s tallow on a slender wick,

To belie all the truths that I really knew.

All the little half truths that amount to a lie,

Little white lies spoken to gain an advantage.

Exaggerated protests saying we would rather die,

Fooling us into thinking our words classic vintage.

Then all those promises that we make for tomorrow,

Promises that merely tetter precariously on the edge.

Breezy winds that blow, our words on borrow,

Only to be broken when we take back the pledge.

What about the miasma of the feelings we call love,

That stir in our hearts as ever-conflicting thought.

The emotion feels embracing, then feels like a shove,

Pulling petals from flowers, she love me, she loves me not.

Forget not all those instances when we only ourselves fool,

What we think we know better only ends up as a joke.

In such cases life seems to be unravelling on its spool,

While we make way through the world under its yoke.

There are days that arrive when I know what I want,

Telling myself little half-truths with their tender mercy.

That upon closer inspection, prove to be desires that taunt,

Even I see through the soft clay and can witness the pity.

We build images of ourselves that eventually break apart,

Medieval castles in the sand that amount to nothing.

Let’s get rid of these half truths and sweep clear the heart,

Then, when we look at ourselves, we see truly something.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Thursday 4 February 2021