On Bullsh*t
Someone wrote the essay,
So I shall write the verse,
Lying's really awful,
But bullshit's so much worse,
To lie one must at first concede
That truth must fit its place.
To lie is always to mislead,
To hide the truth so no faint trace
In evidence is left behind
To aid the honest, open mind,
Which questions falsehoods when they jar,
Against the facts as known so far.
Yet 'tangled webs' that liars 'weave'
'When first they practise to decieve'
Are evidence that their intent
Is some small part acknowledgement
That truth somewhere exists.
Bullshit brazenly persists,
No sense of how it might compare
To truth, its smirking face is bare,
It neither hides, nor turns, nor twists
Just flings itself upon the air
Audaciously and doesn't care,
And yet is proud and self aware.
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