I read lies everyday, on the internet, in books, in texts. I hear lies everyday, on the news, from friends, from family.
Why did the truth become so hard to get?
I search for it long and far, giving up hope after a time. I long for it, even as it’s distance grows.
It becomes a scarier insight as the search goes on. My hope grows every once-in-a-while. My dreams help the thoughts along.
But the question still lies, speaking its false hope.
What is the truth?
