To Truth

In response to Keat’s Ode on a Grecian Urn

Thou remains the unsaved soul of stillness

Thou pain-filled child of silent ire, despair

Everyday urges, begs to be expressed

To gain the lightness of being in clean air

With hindsight we can view a more frank act

Clear away the flotsam of veiled rights

In pursuit of such a golden fleece pact

Not petition attention, mandate light

Of the jetsam of frenzied arguments

Of the ugliness of fabrications

which are occupied with false sentiment

these dismal insensitive contentions

Thou still now profound belief and formed proof

Truth is beauty and beauty is our truth


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