The Truth - They Say

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The Truth - They Say


They say the truth knows no name,
It journeys from stranger to stranger, land to land,
Till its lost in distant valleys, and it's not known from where it came

It's softly uttered by the masses,
Whispered between their souls,
Till a time passes --where it is shouted
Across canyons and rooftops and the
Truth is told

It's like a gentle scent,
That has just eased out of a crimson rose
The scent is guarded by humble servants
Who chose God, and whom God chose

They treasure it, vigilantly watching where it goes,
lest its whiff is smelt by Foul souls--
For God knows, they cannot fathom its beauty
For them the truth is foul, putrid,
With no semblance to a rose,

They cannot bear its pleasant fragrance
And are quick to mask its horrid scent
They cringe their faces in disgust
and are doubtful of what is scent
They are doubtful of the truth,
Who sent it, and its scent

But every so often,
Every so often, their comes a dove,
Whose graceful wings smell of the rose,
Where so ever the dove flies so too its scent goes,
But the hunters spot it and its scent,
And so they line up in uneven rows,
Casting their bows, toward the dove
And its not long before it is met with arrows,

Soon the earth is drenched in red,
And it is not long before it is said
Why haven't the heavens sent their scent
And man searches, to and fro, in distant valleys
Wondering where the truth went