truth cannot be told

proof again, 

that truth, as essence, cannot be told.

one can only massage the beliefs 

that already are in existence.

we have names 

for all the celestials in the night sky

as if every night time

the truth can be referenced as if told

from our observational perspective.

we have words for everything

as if the truth is in the telling.

everything that is heard as belief 

is also living for a current update.

there is a game board that we made out of say.

upon it, one of these four boring mind-games  

are constantly in play.

it's either checkers, chess, mille bornes, or go,

in which understanding is the method of usage 

and truth is the means of usage in play.

each game conversationally 

alternating conviction and usage.

truth cannot be told,

even though these games we play

present as winnings and losings,

rights and wrongs,

deceptions or earnestness,

historical or current,

or validatings or disprovings.

for the audience is the composition of perspective

and therefore truth cannot be told.

where livingness occurs, 

the audience is not known mastery

and experience itself 

is not ever the essence of isness.

where truth is only ever in the bystander grandstand 

of what we comprehend,

thriving on experiential versionary existence.

and yet every truth will have

its read, its version, and its say.

all in passing,

all in transit.

you can believe you-me,

but truth does not rely on that hearsay of time

or any bystander's account in the passing.

everything that we as humans name

is only a fashion statement 

in its appraisal and possibly its account.

truth may or may not exist,

but what we verify 

only lives as an assessment account.

truth never lies 

but experientially is only seen 

as sensibly sensed in passing. 

it's as if we all swim in the lake of truth

but are never the water.

yet we are composed mostly of the water

but do not define ourselves in quite that way.

instead, we are flotation of the essence of hearsay,

metamorphosing into account,

having the lifespan of the species of belief.

and eventually, we propagate 

before our die-offs occur. 

truth is ever that migratory life 

through the land of believed to be so.

we are each a prop-fest of participation.

and the essence of truth 

still may or may not exist, 

but clearly can never be told . . .