Face in the Door ~ Philip Brent Harris
Writing in the first person, how can I be I sure I am writing as me?
Even if I think I describe true events, what in my mind’s eye I see.
Can I recount truthfully pictures I find lurking in my own memory,
Directly, I start to reinvent, interpret, reconceive who I was, will be?
We change, adapt, embellish our memories, make sure they stay inside.
And if they gain pacing, drama, intrigue in telling, have we really lied?
Do we delude only ourselves or others with the stories we tell or hide,
Or do we only seek to reason, understand, to cope, to be able to abide?
Now I don’t know the answer, perhaps all of these somehow are true.
Certainly, truth that lives inside your mind and heart is reality to you.
Do we spare our feelings, telling little white lies to muddle through?
A gently lie spares us pointless pain, trumps unkind truth, told in lieu.
Though little lies may blend together, merge, so we become confused.
May be difficult to know who we are, if we’ve often the truth abused.
We may then hurt those we thought to spare; they will feel hard used.
In the ones you hurt include yourself. This cannot be ignored, excused.
Know we all change past events, alter details; it’s how our mind works.
Often nothing dire hides behind the curtain, no fear of sharpened dirks.
It gives a lot of scientists large study grants and employs a lot of clerks,
Though I doubt if they’ll, someday, be able to explain our many quirks.
VOTE, November 3, 2020!
Peace is Purpose, Nonviolence is Strength, Diversity is Unity, Empathy is Empowerment
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