When it’s wrong it’s wrong,
but it’s never wrong when we say it is,
as soon as the words are spoken
their foolishness becomes apparent.
Who might cast the first subjective stone?
an immaculate deception
colonises the mind of a wounded ego,
to create the perfect world,
in our own image.
Well trained horses don’t bridle,
to offer silence
as our only rebuke,
of the fractures in our mind
we’d dare project
as a fantasy of singular truth.
©Paul Vincent Cannon