Sonnet 467

Where 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, played 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
As what deemed white is oft a shade 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 white as sought.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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