Political epigram

I am unable, yon politician spoke,
In truth, to speak the truth; would be a joke.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Reflections are not truth

life is always viewed
through the windows of the mind,
it is transformed, distorted
by the panes of perception,
becoming twisted reflections
filtered through a collage
of dust, streaks, fly specks,
hand prints, spittle, grime,
the imperfection of glass,
the baggage of living is
our collected experiences
that shape our beliefs
form what we become,
that film on the window panes,
there because we learn by it,
learn to be misjudged
tell misconceived lies,
feel anguish of disappointment,
view ourselves as we
believe we are seen,
it is a two-way street,
what we perceive
will also be perceived,
and, that is the danger,
reflections are false images,
beyond their dance is truth,
as surely as we digest them,
what is expelled is not the same,
what it once was, indistinguishable,
our frame of references,
our reflections have become,
the nutrient for another mind’s
fertile view of its reality.

A note about this poem: It is based on ‘one’s frame of reference’ that is taken from the psychological theory of Gestalt. We all have one, the trick is recognizing it and dealing with it.

©2011, Donald Harbour