The Truth Of This World

Truth is subjective
Most will only embrace
That which furthers their objective
And turn a blind eye to critics and disgrace

What is my truth?
Honestly I do not know
Sometimes I think I do but like Clark Kent in a phone booth
It sheds its guise to reveal another with its own issues in tow.

When young, the line between good and bad
Was as clear as night and day
The world made sense in the eyes of a young lad
Now it is just a constant palette of moral gray.

Taking a life was the ultimate sin
But after facing all the horrors this world has to offer
The power to dispense death is now the ultimate win
And as the body count grows, the mind gets tougher

The scent of blood is now all too familiar
Though some may not know it
What with being innocent, they deem it unfamiliar
But given enough time, they too will find it

Mankind is flawed and not worth redeeming
A race of wolves guised as sheep
Constantly backstabbing and scheming
Making it neigh impossible to lay down to sleep

Kindness is misconstrued as weakness
Honesty is now dubbed rudeness
Lying is considered priceless
And the corrupt masquerade as faultless

How is one to grow morally upright
When the very soil that nourishes them
Lack the aspects that can be deemed right
To cleanse them and bring out their inner gem

How is one to live in this mess?
Inundated with endless worries and stress
Navigating each day like a board of chess
All to avoid going home with less.

By
Kevin Omyonga