He twiddled the idea
in his head
to weave thoughts
imagined patterns
he said
of threads
woven like ancient
Persian carpets
designed for keen eyes
to reveal
a tapestry of stories
and tales
too convoluted
to tell
so they stayed
inside
his head
until his fingers
could not resist
to tell tales
that were too
convoluted
for twisted tongues
to tell.
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Truth (with a capital "T") is the elephant, and humanity the blind touching, sniffing, tasting, listening to this big "T" and of course we all rhapsodize a different tale (or tail?), yet in the end the big "T" is still the big "T" and all our various tales describe a tiny bit of that reality, the elephant.
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