The world took Dickinson too literally
Now all of truth is at a slant
Tipsy from all the glasses of false cheer
Every time we crack open our phones
But truth was never our strong suit
Stories were our salvation
A god to explain how every rock and stream
Came to rest on the back of a turtle
Stories about who paid the first light bill
And who’ll flip the last switch
The story of a dream could shape the world
Glorious lies that grasped at the truth
Great storytellers may have been the best liars
Now the liars can’t even tell a good story
Ancestors sat ‘round the fire and spoke the universe into being
Our contemporaries light a match to see it all burn
I dream of tickling Atlas’s marble armpits
And making the turtle laugh
Make them tilt the world, just a bit
Shake us loose of our current narrative
Then gather‘round the storytellers, learn why clouds rise in the west
The sun bounces on the horizon
Learn to search for truth again
About the Creator
Sean A.
A happy guy that tends to write a little cynically. Just my way of dealing with the world outside my joyous little bubble.



Comments (6)
"Ancestors sat ‘round the fire and spoke the universe into being Our contemporaries light a match to see it all burn" Those two lines really hit me, Shaun. Great thought -provoking work.
"Stories about who paid the first light bill And who’ll flip the last switch" Oooo, that certainly was intriguing. Loved your poem!
This is marvelous as both an homage to, and a cynical improvisation upon, the immortal Emily!
This is very insightful and really speaks to how to world views "factual information" and "stories" these days.
❤️Nicely written, Shaun <3 Last three lines really hit
History indeed has a lot of truth that we need to look for. Great sharing, Shaun.