Bare On The Floor

Truth like reality

Can be a nebulous thing,

Just ask the young man

Sitting twirling a string,

Tapping his fingers

Looking off in the air,

Because I don’t see it

Does it mean it’s not there,

Great ones have pondered

But none really said,

It’s too late to ask them

Most are all dead.

Keats and Thomas,

Milton and more,

Perhaps Cohen and Layton

Laid it bare on the floor.

Stephen Nesbitt ©