Friday, December 31, 2010

Simple, Truth

Simple's not so simple
When considered, you may find:
Instead, it is the cartoon
Infrastructure of the mind.

With simple we can treat things
That are sim'lar as one word,
Which works if they stay sim'lar,
But can elsewise be obsurd.

Simple is a garden
Where the plants, from weeds, are saved;
Simple is a plain face
Kept, by Occam's razor, shaved.

Simple is a journey
Far more than it is a fact:
It keeps up with life's changes
Leaving details sorely lacked.

Simple is a strategy
That works best in one's youth,
But its greatest danger
Is mistaking it for truth.

The word, "Truth," now, that's simple;
The idea, not so much.
Either there's one basic truth out there,
Or there's no Truth as such.

Truth pursued seems often found,
And when revealed, 'tis treasured,
But fast retreats into details
When, carefully, it's measured.

In practice, then, it seems, "the truth"
Most often means, "it works,"
When absolutes are needed, though,
Then, out of sight, it lurks.

And yet, without the truth,
There'd be no science or religion,
And our hopes would be replaced
With prospects, much more stygian.

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