The half truth

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He didn’t win, in his first love
Or fight,
Bleeding
Heart or forehead
A retired clam, he closed his shells shut
Tight.

He traveled
From
East
– To west
– To south
– To north
– To further west
Up the hills, out to the tides
He has stories up his sleeve

The winter
When he coiled like a dog
The rain
When he drenched like a tree,
Or sat on the last rock
And had qualms
If there was a life
To go back to,
From years to people
He had tales to tell.

“Why don’t you tell us stories?”
“What stories?”
“Your stories- countries, people”
“It’s make believe
Countries are what people make them
If you blend in”
“Did you blend in?”
“I didn’t, I just moved on”
“And women?”
He smiles,
“No matter how far,
Beyond my arms is far enough”
“Tell us those stories?”, they insist
“Another time”
And he just left.

Shadows followed
So did the soft footprints on sand
As he made mistakes
Climbed treacherous steps
Lamented
Laughed
Screamed
And like all converging sunlight
Found a way home
To love, contentment and poetry.

“Will you tell us your stories now?”
They circle him
He calmly opens a sac-full of tales
And their eyes widen
“All of that really happened?”
“There is no such thing as half truth.”

– He smiles and reads on.


This is a late entry to Brians MTB theme on self portraits, as I was away on a road trip. Read all the entries here. The photo is taken at New-quay, Cornwall.


7 thoughts on “The half truth

  1. i am glad you found that way home…the world needs more story tellers and our journeys def provide th fodder for them…countries are what we make of them…ha…an intriguing thought that…

  2. beautiful that after the long trip you found your way home… sometimes we just need to travel to in a way find ourselves in what we see and experience in other countries… and cool on all the stories we gather on those trips

  3. Sensational. I am reminded of begging my Finnish grandparents to allow a tape to be made of their life stories, of how they traveled from Finland to the U.S. and made their home here. They were too shy, hence the stories died with them. One of the best gifts we can give to our families, and to our human family in general, is the telling of those tales.

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