I always found the pursuit of truth to be somewhat meaningless. I made this page to document my search for that elusive quality, and I think that, in trying to find the truth, we only serve to deceive ourselves.

What is truth? Artists and poets all claim to have captured truth, but the only truth I've encountered is in places unexpected. The mouth of a homeless man overflows with the truth. The eyes of a man who has seen war shine with the truth. The hands of a single mother are positively coated in the truth. The closest I've ever come to seeing the truth is in my own tragedy - when no lie can cover up what you know to be real.

What is truth? I don't know what truth is, but I know where I can find it.

What is truth?

Truth is the word from the mouth of a child,
One clear drop of rain when the weather is mild,
A message without limits, judgments, or bias.
The shapes on the earth when the sun is its highest.

It's the bright flash of lightning as it strikes in the sky.
And last words at a bedside when one comes to die.
The pain of a mother when her son goes to fight,
And the whisper the wind howls out late at night.

A hungry man digging in the dumpster out back,
And the desperate scraps that he keeps in a sack.
The wounds of a man who crossed the wrong gang,
His life ended short by the sound of a bang.

Words come to life when the world is the worst,
When hearts are in need and ready to burst.
Our lies are laid bare by the things that we fear,
But when all hope is lost then truth will appear.