Poemetry by T.A. Barnhart


each morning
i sit with
pen & notebook
and search for
certain words,
hidden yet waiting,
that will open up
one small secret
of reality’s truth.
i am not sure
what it means
that most mornings
i am successful.
am i a genius?
is truth that abundant?
is truth that simple?
what i know
about truth
is that
we make it up.
the laws of physics
that guide how
the universe runs,
how life exists and functions,
those fundamental laws
are not truth.
they are just
how i spend each day,
why i choose
to continue to live
and what i do
as a living creature,
my decisions
about how i interact
with the rest of
the planet –
that is truth.
my truth alone.

no wonder
almost no everyone

©TA Barnhart April 22, 2020