I Cannot Tell the Truth
What you really want me to tell
is how it felt to swing the axe.
It was like the end of spring,
and a door now propped open.
When I took power, I was a toothless
war hero. Well, that isn’t true
I had one rotten tooth in a mouth
full of rot. Maybe I’d eaten my lies,
dined on confectionery for too long.
I let it be known that my teeth were wood,
like this tree. I would tell you
that each tooth was like a minted coin, never
whittled with a knife in the cool evening,
but you
wouldn't believe me.
What you really want me to tell
is how it felt to swing the axe.
It was like the end of spring,
and a door now propped open.
When I took power, I was a toothless
war hero. Well, that isn’t true
I had one rotten tooth in a mouth
full of rot. Maybe I’d eaten my lies,
dined on confectionery for too long.
I let it be known that my teeth were wood,
like this tree. I would tell you
that each tooth was like a minted coin, never
whittled with a knife in the cool evening,
but you
wouldn't believe me.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson