The lies that bind

He exists perfect and whole

in me, maybe in everyone if they want

a taste

he's not mirage like, or tricky, only appearing

at certain angles depending on the light.

Out there, everywhere, he moves through endless life

in unimaginable ignorance

of this, this less than bliss.

He's somewhere where existence reflects truth,

doesn't lie like a Hollywood movie,

or the British government over Iraq and weapons

of mass destruction,

or the American authorities and Abu Ghraib.

Let them have their lies, their death camps

once, I saw god

and I swallowed him whole.

I was never the same after,

but

he's in me now,

I'll seek my own truth.