who has the hold on truth?

perhaps it’s a homeless man
wearing rainbow clown hair
quickly turning his baseball cap
from side to side
while holding the frame
of a broken umbrella
(minus its fabric)
over his head
uttering profanities
with a smile and a wink

perhaps it’s a child
who smiles
as a thunderstorm approaches
but doesn’t hesitate warning his mother
to seek shelter in the family van

perhaps it’s a poet
writing in the dark by a sole candle
not concerned if the world
will ever know his poems
for he knows a greater audience is reading

perhaps it’s an entourage of actors
inhabiting the theater of a planet
who boast the fortune of having a playwright
who patterns the stage and writes the screenplay
yet allows the actors to improvise much of the dialogue
ppontaneously unfurling the context of the grand finale

perhaps it’s those watching earth from a distance
cohabitating mountains and streams
and traversing sidewalks of modern cities
who come from unseen stars
where truth is abundantly clear
and is beginning to take root and grow
in the gardens of mankind’s illusions

who has the hold on truth?
the incredulous say “not me”