i find that truth is a relative thing
wending its way down some unmarked path
shadowed by flowering ambition.
it sits like a Buddha somewhere
on that road
off to one side,
tilting its eyes toward me
a wink somewhere there in the offing.
and in its belly
it holds its best offering,
wrapped in golden skin,
which i can peel back
if i so desire
until i find its nub
somewhere guarded at the center.
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2014
posted for Poetry Pantry