An Ode to Lies

Loquacious people love to spill

Plump secrets they’re too vain to keep.

To tell tremendous news can reap

Friends whom novelty alone can thrill.

The truth is common property,

And independently abides,

While forgettings are all pseudocides,

And neglectful parents can’t agree.

Whoever lies confers a gift

Devising falsehoods just for you.

Facts thrive where thistles never grew.

Don’t give what anyone can lift.

In legend consumed bread regrows

To feed a nation from one loaf.

Truths regenerate, so any oaf

Can pluck a common, banal rose.

Truth-tellers safely can forget,

Because some checking resupplies.

Not so with lonely, fragile lies,

Whoever lies must ever fret.

Glib, easy tongues who scatter facts

Have given every anyone

A tale regifted they’ve not spun.

Lies are what imagining enacts.

The stringent claim that facts are few

While falsehoods sprout in multitudes

But where the robust truth intrudes

Mendacity’s scorched residue.

The truth is a replenished ore

Dug from an open, shallow mine.

Lies are a moon-grown eglantine

Or stories from a private lore.

Facts are devalued minted lead,

Coins of a debased currency,

But lies are golden filigree

Which melts wherever sunlight’s spread.