Sonnet 467

What then of vice or of pure virtue named,
Each act of man accorded to it’s ends,
There so of purpose then is truth oft gamed
And to a chosen conscience pays amends.
To justify a wrong seems falsehood clear
Yet though each heart with force denounce a lie,
Mercurial logic may a truth so steer
That with prevarication it may vie.
So said, a truth is rarely truly true
For that deemed white bears oft a tinge of grey,
Perhaps ‘tis best to judge by what we do
And not by that, in truth, of what we say.
Where reason can be tainted by black thought,
There rarely gleams a truth as bright as sought.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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